Shards of Friendship
by Venea Taur
Summary: Sequel to Two Paths. Strider departs from Imladris in search of his ranger friends and along the way runs into an old friend. But lingering headaches from a vicious attack cause him problems and lead him on a dangerous path.
1. Happy Beginnings

This is the sequel to Two Paths, hopefully it comes quicker than the previous one.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I don't own anything Lord of the Ring related (if I did I wouldn't owe so much in college loans), except for the story idea and all original characters.

Please read, relax, review, and enjoy.

* * *

Shards of Friendship:

Secrets

As Aragorn looked at Arwen's face he recognized something familiar about it, yet he couldn't place it. Her eyes were full of sadness as they gazed at him, but that was not what her expression spoke for that showed a lack of sympathy for what, however, he was unsure. She lifted her hands up and he prepared himself for her warm embrace, as he thought to ask her what was troubling her. Her hands came up higher than he anticipated, but that was fine; once they were around his neck, they would begin to spread their soothing warmth to his body allowing him to sink into a state of bliss. But that moment didn't come when he thought it to, still he waited patiently. It didn't come as she lowered her hands, nor did it come as she smiled at him.

'My love,' his voice cracked in questioning wonder. Wordlessly, she slapped him, her expression changing to disgust.

'Do not call me such,' her soft, airy voice angrily forced the words out. Aragorn made to respond, but she moved closer until her head was next to his, opening her own mouth to speak. Unexpectedly, the voice changed, becoming deeper as she spoke. 'You are a mere mortal, pathetic and helpless,' the voice drew farther away from him allowing him to recognize the speaker as Elrond.

'Ada,' he pleaded, 'what is happening.' He questioned the eleven lord and again felt the sting of the hand.

'Insolent human,' Elrond spat. 'Do you think that right is granted to you simply because you were reared in the House of Elrond? It was only the sight of your pitiful mother burdened with the weight which your father passed onto you that convinced me to allow you in this house. And now I see that I made a great mistake thinking a human child could ever learn the elven ways.'

Aragorn was dumbfounded, left speechless by Elrond's harsh words against him and his family. This was not the Elrond he had know throughout his childhood, this was not the kind man that tended to his scraped knees when he fell in the garden or that had patiently re-explained his lessons to him when he was too antsy to pay attention the first time. Once again he made to speak, but Elrond was no longer before him, rather he was standing on the ground. At last Aragorn realized where he stood: atop a wooden platform, a coarse loop of rope draped around his neck.

'For your crime,' Elrond spoke, 'you shall be hanged until dead.' Yet again shock overtook Aragorn, as he tried quickly to comprehend what was happening around him. His thoughts were interrupted, by Elrond calling to the guards, who immediately obeyed their lord's command and Aragorn felt himself drop.

Aragorn woke quickly as he rolled over, catching himself quickly for he did not wish to plummet to the ground lest he die.

'Finally my love,' a sweet voice called to him. He moved back in shock, sitting up slightly. Blinking, he forced his still sleepy eyes to focus on the person before him, afraid to see who it was, but it was just Arwen. Nevertheless, it sent a tremble of fear through him.

'Arwen,' he nervously asked.

'It is I,' she answered softly. 'What troubles you, Aragorn?'

'Tis nothing,' he tried to hide the relief that it was truly her for by now he surely would have appeared if it was not. 'What calls you here?' he asked, sitting up straighter.

'Elrohir and Elladan are enjoying your absence at the morning meal.'

Aragorn relaxed slightly at the mirthful tone of her voice.

'Let them,' he spoke softly as he slowly moved closer to Arwen, 'for I have something far sweeter than Annael's muffins.' He finished as he kissed her.

'And while that may be true, my beloved,' she backed away slightly, 'if you have not eaten, Ada will not allow you to leave on your journey today.'

He sank back into his pillow; he was defeated for he knew that was more than true. Even though he was, by human standards, an adult, Ada never stopped looking after him as though he were a young child.

'Nénimë has already drawn the water for your bath,' Arwen informed him as she stood, making her way to the door. 'And I will tell Elladan and Elrohir to save some food for you.'

'Those two would delight in you telling them that and they shall leave me with an apple, saying they did as you asked,' Aragorn spoke, moving himself until his feet hit the floor. 'Nay, if I am going to eat this morning, you shall have to make sure that they actually leave something.'

'That is true,' she conceded. 'I shall then go make sure that they leave you more than just an apple, perhaps you would like a muffin as well?' she teased as she left Aragorn's room. Shaking his head, Aragorn chuckled; they were all jesters.

Sighing, Aragorn forced himself to get out of bed. Once standing, he stretched and walked over to a table which held a bowl of water that he used to wash his face. After bathing, he dressed and went down stairs to the dining room where he found Ellandan and Elrohir sitting at the table, eating their meal quickly. To his dismay, he did not see Arwen as he expected.

'Mára arin, tornnya,' (Good morning, my brother) Elrohir somehow managed to say clearly between mouthfuls of a muffin.

'Mára arin,' Aragorn answered, taking a seat next to Elrohir. 'How are the muffins?' he asked Elrohir, taking a muffin for himself.

'Excellent,' he swallowed quickly, finishing the last bit of the muffin he was eating. As his two brothers finished eating, Aragorn ate in silence.

'What are you planning on doing today,' Elrohir asked his human brother.

'I must begin preparing for my quest to find the rangers or what remains of them.'

'Have you had any luck with your contacts?' Ellandan inquired.

'Some. I have been told that a group stopped in Caugha for supplies and headed east towards the Misty Mountains.'

'When do you plan on leaving?'

'Today, if my luck holds out and I can gather the supplies I need before the daylight disappears.' Aragorn answered.

'Well, do not forget, young brother, that Ada wishes to see you today,' Elrohir reminded the human.

'Forget,' Aragorn's voice rose slightly in shock, 'I do not believe I was ever told that he wished to see me today.' The two elves looked at one another from across the table.

'I thought you were going to tell him last night.'

'If I remember correctly, it was Ada who told you to tell him, not I,' Ellandan reminded his twin. 'And I believe it was you who told me about it.'

'No, I believe that it was you who were supposed to tell him,' Elrohir retorted.

'Nay, dear brother,' Ellandan tried to keep his voice calm, 'I believe it was you.'

'Enough,' Aragorn spoke firmly from the side. He could see where this was headed and did not wish to hear such a conversation this morning. In a much calmer voice he spoke, 'It is alright. I now know that I am expected to see Ada today. It does not matter who was to tell me, you got the message to me. I will go see him after I finish eating.'

'Sorry,' Elrohir apologized.

'Ion nin, do not worry,' Aragorn said.

'Well, brother, I believe we should be going,' Ellandan pushed himself away from the table. 'If you remember we are set to go hunting with Haldir today.'

'I remember,' Elrohir said sarcastically as he too pushed himself from the table. Standing, he looked at Aragorn, 'If you should leave before we return, I hope your quest goes well. May the Valar keep you safe.'

'Lets go Elrohir, we should not keep Haldir waiting any longer,' Ellandan picked up a stray muffin from the table. 'Good day, dear brother,' he called leaving the room, Elrohir not far behind him.

Not long after his brothers left, Aragorn arose from his seat and left the dining hall.

'Aragorn,' a soft, familiar voice called to him as he prepared to walk up the steps to Elrond's study.

'Arwen,' he turned to face her. 'You were not in the dining hall as I expected. I'm very lucky that I still had some food to eat.'

'Forgive me,' crossing the short distance between them and placing her hands on his chest, she whispered, 'my love.'

'Quiet,' he replied sharply, taking a hold of her hands and moving them down. 'We must be careful. No one yet knows.'

'Fine,' she replied cheerily, 'let us go then somewhere where we can be alone and not worry about intruders.' She pulled on his arm as she moved to go down the hallway, but when he did not move, she stopped, turning to face him.

'I can't Arwen,' Aragorn allowed his shoulders to sink a bit. He envied Arwen for her youthfulness and cheeriness. He wished to join her, be ever since he returned to Imladris from his time with the rangers he had felt weighted down. 'I must see Ada; he is expecting me.'

'I too know of the meeting that Ellandan and Elrohir we supposed to tell you about last night and Ada did not specify a time. In fact, he is probably busy working and will not appreciate the disturbance.'

'But,' he started.

'Do not worry,' she pulled on him again, this time getting a slight movement from him. 'Ada will not know. Come,' she finished, this time succeeding in getting him going, after yet another tug. About halfway through the hallway, Aragorn stopped.

'Where are we going Arwen,' he asked impatiently.

'You will see,' she came close to him. In a whisper she spoke, 'A place where we can be alone.'

'My love,' he whispered, entrapped by her beauty and intoxicated by the scent of her body, Aragorn made to move closer, until Arwen pulled away from him. Surprised, he did not turn until he heard Arwen greet a servant. He tried to keep from blushing as he mumbled a greeting, nodding his head. The servant nodded her head, receiving the greeting as a person of her status was to and continued walking. Not until they were sure that she was gone and that there was no one else in the hallway, did they draw close again.

'See,' she spoke in soft, confident tone, 'we must go someplace where we can be alone.'

'Yes,' he agreed as she pulled on his arm once again, forcing him to move with her. After several minutes, they finally stopped. Arwen led him through a door, which took them outside into a garden. If he had not been with Arwen, he doubted that he would have been able to find the stone path for it was so overgrown with plants. Everywhere he looked it seemed there were flowers of the most rich, vibrant colors he could recall casting his gaze on. Stumblingly on the path, he looked down, seeing the weeds growing up in the path. This had once been a path of elvish perfection and beauty, made of stones interlocking in such a way that they seemed as though they had been destined for one another, he realized. It had long gone unattended to, however, and now weeds had forced themselves into the small cracks, making them larger and shifting some stones upwards, causing tripping dangers.

As he followed Arwen, who easily placed her feet on the stones as if she had been here often, even more of the garden came into his view. Though it had obviously not been tended to in years, the overgrowth was welcome and comforting. Beside them, Aragorn heard the trickling of water. Ahead of them, he could see an end to the plants, as the path emptied into a meadow of sorts. When at last they reached this, he saw the source of the water; there was a small stream into which flowed a waterfall no more than a meter and a half tall.

Pulling him into the clearing, she stopped, moved close to him and whispered, 'Here, my love. Here is where we can be alone.'

'I did not know this place existed,' he said, still in awe of the beauty.

'Not many do, but I often come here when I wish to be alone,' she turned her back to him, looking at the water gently crashing into the water as it fell from the rock. 'No one comes here anymore.'

'Anymore?' he asked, intrigued by her statement. Arwen paused for a minute before answering him.

'Bad memories,' she said, a twinge of sadness in her voice. 'Have you told ada yet?' she quickly changed the subject. This time it was his turn to pause before speaking.

'No,' he told her.

'Why,' her voice rose a touch as she whirled around to confront him.

'I don't know,' he sighed. 'Perhaps I am afraid of his answer, after all we still are not on the best of terms.'

'And yet he allows you to remain here as long as you wish,' she pointed out. 'He is a good man Aragorn, why can you not see that. He will understand.'

'I know he is a good man, but I still fear his answer. And how can I tell him that I love you? We are almost brother and sister, Arwen.'

'Does that bother you?' she asked firmly.

'No,' he sighed.

'True we are both part of this family, raised by the same father, but we are not blood relatives Aragorn. We did not even grow up together. There is nothing wrong with our love for one another. Ada will understand that and he will accept the love we have for one another.'

'And what of your brothers? Do you really believe they will accept it as easily as Ada?'

'They love you deeply as they love me. I am sure that they would be joyed to know that you will be staying in the family.' She moved towards him, 'But they matter naught, Aragorn,' she spoke softly, taking his hands in hers. 'What truly matters is that we love one another. Our love is not false and cannot be doubted. This they shall have to accept.'

'Aye, Arwen,' he gently took her hands, lifting them to kiss the fingertips. 'This they shall have to accept,' he agreed, peering over her hands to gaze at her eyes. Instantly, he was enraptured by the beauty they beheld. He felt as though they could read one another's minds for as soon as he moved to kiss her, she moved to kiss him. Then the beauty and passion he held for her, ignited all the more and he found himself unable to draw away from her.

At last, however, he forced himself to, for he knew that they could not remain this way forever.

'Arwen,' he breathed her name, his lips still dangerously close to hers. 'My love,' he forced himself to move a little farther back, 'I must go. I have to talk to Ada.'

'Yes,' she whispered so soft that despite their closeness only her elven ears could hear it. She was distracted, saddened that the moment was over, but also frightened for him and his safety. She knew he was not quite healed, he still suffered headaches from whatever torture he had endured. Sometimes they were so terrible, he could not even rise from his bed; rather he would stay there, keeping his room cloaked in darkness trying to work through the pain. Ada always tried to help him, giving him a potion that would ease the pain, but Ada feared giving it too often for Aragorn might become reliant on it.

'Arwen,' he called again, slightly louder than before. She looked at him, 'I must go,' he repeated his earlier statement. 'I have to talk to Ada.'

'Of course,' she tried not to look disappointed, but her voice betrayed her.

'Arwen,' he touched her chin with his hand, 'I will not be gone for long. Once I find the rangers, I will return to see you.'

'And I shall be waiting,' she lowered her head.

'Come, we should go,' now it was Aragorn's turn to take her hand, leading her back through the overgrown path. They walked slower than when they had come, both knowing that this was their last moment for some time that they would be able to spend alone together. Once outside the door, they would have to hide their love for one another, showing rather the love that one shows to a sibling. The masquerade was difficult. She was not sure how much longer she could pretend; she knew however that she would have to continue until Aragorn told Ada.

As they approached the door, Arwen noticed the door was slightly ajar. She knew she had fully shut it so as to make sure that no one would hear them or think that someone was in the garden. The door, she told herself, must have slipped open a little. It was the wind that did it, she tried to assuage the feelings of uneasiness settling in her mind. She looked to Aragorn; he did not seem to notice.

But he had take note; he knew that Arwen would have been careful to shut it fully so they would not be caught. He too tried to tell himself, however that it was the wind, but in his heart he knew that someone had been in the garden; someone had seen them. The two questions that remained were: who was it and how much had they seen.


	2. Sorcerer in the Woods

Finally the second chapter; sorry it took so long. I was away in Greece for three months and didn't have access to a computer. I will be working on this consistently, however. This chapter's not too long and not very exciting, I promise they'll get better.

Warnings: None

Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Lord of the Rings, though I wish I did.

Please read, relax, enjoy, and review.

* * *

Sorcerer in the Woods

'Ada,' Aragorn questioned, knocking on the door of his father's study. His brothers had not told him what Elrond wanted to see him for, but he assumed it likely had something to do with his journey.

'Come,' Elrond's voice carried the distance from where he sat at his desk, somehow being heard through the thick wooden doors of his study. Aragorn pushed the door open, stepping inside the study. It brought back a lot of memories, reminded him of everything that had happened. But that was in the past, he thought as he forced himself to think past those thoughts.

'You wished to see me,' Aragorn's voice briefly broke the awkward silence that filled the room. Elrond had been thoroughly entrenched in an old text; Aragorn immediately regretted his timing. He should have waited until later. Since returning there had been some awkward moments between them as Elrond adjusted to his son's transformation. Aragorn, he had soon realized, was not the same man that he had known.

'Yes,' Elrond spoke distractedly as he tried to finish the page he was reading. 'Please have a seat,' he absently gestured to the air; there was no chair there. In fact, as Aragorn found out, there was no chair anywhere which left Aragorn to shift slightly nervous from foot to foot as he waited for Elrond to finish. To him the wait seemed like hours as he felt the maturity fleeing from him in waves; how long could it take to read a page.

Finally, Elrond closed the book, placing his bookmark inside. Aragorn remembered the day he saw that bookmark. He was a child and had come into the study only to find Elrond reading. When he came in Elrond had been distracted and so Aragorn had began fidgeting with the bookmark while he waited for Elrond to stop. It had taken a few minutes, but when Elrond did finally see him there, he grabbed the book mark from his hands. Aragorn hadn't understood, but he'd seen the sadness in his father's eyes. Later his brothers had explained to him that the bookmark was from their mother, Celebrian. She loved to weave threads into beautiful tapestries and clothes; the intricately woven bookmark had taken her some time to complete for she worked on it while she was being taken by Orc poison. Father had never let it out of his sight for long after she left.

'Aragorn,' Elrond turned to his son, 'why have you not…' his words trailed off as he realized that there was no seat. 'I am sorry my son, I do not know what has happened to all my chairs,' he rambled on, something was worrying him and Aragorn could tell it. Elrond rarely appeared flustered.

'Ada,' Aragorn tried to get to the heart of the situation, 'what troubles you?'

'You have had another dream, have you not,' Elrond ignored the question as he saw the wearied look on Aragorn's face and the dark circles beneath his eyes.

'Aye, but I have learned to deal with them. What is it that concerns you?' Aragorn asked, not liking his father's avoidance of the question.

'You cannot continue living on a few hours of sleep a night Aragorn; it is not healthy. As a ranger you are already more susceptible to illness, the lack of sleep will only increase your chances.'

'Don't worry, Ada. It's only a minor nuisance; I can deal with it.'

'I wish that I could have fully healed your injuries, done something more to help, but I fear that you shall have some lasting effects,' Elrond continued, almost muttering. 'Will you not tell me what happened, perhaps then I could help you better.' Aragorn's answer was no different than the other times, Elrond hadn't expected a change, but there was always that faint hope that maybe this time he would open up. Par usual, Elrond watched as Aragorn visibly shuddered, lowered his head, pausing. Aragorn had never revealed to him, not even to his brothers what had happened to him; still Elrond knew that it was terrible and had left a deep emotional scar.

'There is nothing you can do Ada,' Aragorn answered looking up at Elrond. On the outside, Elrond's face was of understanding, but beneath that layer there was one of sadness and guilt, which Aragorn worried might never disappear. 'I'm sorry Ada. It is something I have to deal with; you've done your part. You healed me; what remains is my burden to bear, not yours,' he tried to ease the hidden layer, but it didn't work. It never did, he thought, sighing. What a mess things had become. Shaking the negative thoughts, he forced himself back to the original purpose of the meeting, 'Now what is it that concerns you?'

Elrond dropped his head, smiling to himself, yet again Aragorn had seen past his avoidance of the question.

'I see I can hide nothing from you anymore. I have received word from scouts about a wizard wandering from village to village asking questions,' Elrond's words were blunt.

'A curious wizard is no cause for concern, Ada.'

'Is that all,' Aragorn shifted in annoyance; this was the trouble his father worried about. 'You need not worry Ada. I do not intend to seek out evil, merely to find a band of rangers.'

'I have no doubt of your intentions, my son. It is the intentions of this evil that I doubt; they have not yet shown themselves, nor have they made demands and it is this which I fear. We do not known what they want and so long as you wander this earth you shall be a target for evil, for though you are thought dead, evil has ways of gaining information,' Elrond warned, looking into his son's eyes. Aragorn looked back, seeing true fear in his father's eyes.

'I have sent out scouts,' Elrond continued, 'but only a few have returned, those that have given us little information. They do tell me of a wizard, however. He has made some inquiries that concern me.'

'Inquiries into what,' Aragorn pressed when Elrond didn't continue.

'Numenor, the Dunedain and your lineage.'

'It is probably some old man looking into things, believing he's found the heir. It's happened before, Ada. There's no reason to be alarmed.'

'Perhaps you are right, but do not be cocky. I have already told you once in this conversation, no one yet knows you live and it is best kept that way until the time is right. Whether it's an old fool or not, you must be careful,' Elrond paused. 'Perhaps,' he said after a moment, 'I should send your brothers with you. They will keep you from harm.'

'Ada,' Aragorn kept his voice calm despite his annoyance at his father's protectiveness, 'I will be perfectly fine. I am perfectly capable of defending myself. Nothing will happen; I'll return before you know it. If you'll excuse me, Ada, I must prepare to set out,' Aragorn excused himself noticing the sun reaching its peak, 'I should leave while I still have some light remaining in the day.'

'Of course, before you leave, however, I have something for you,' Elrond opened a drawer on his desk, pulling out a small vial containing a dark red liquid. As he handed it to Aragorn, he explained, 'This should be enough to help you if your headaches become too bad on your journey.'

'Thank you, Ada. I hope I will not need it,' Aragorn replied as he left.

'As do I,' Elrond muttered in the now empty room.


	3. A Familiar Face

Well, here's the next chapter, just as I promised. Hopefully it's up to par with my other stuff- it's only going to get better from now. Please read, relax, and enjoy. Oh and don't forget to review.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, but I wish sometimes that I did.

Warnings: I don't want to say anything to give it away, but there's some pain. No torture though, not yet at least.

* * *

Aragorn shifted slightly on the back of his horse. He'd been riding steadily for five hours now, trying to get as far as possible before sunset. The memory of leaving was still fresh in his mind; it was so much different from last time. His entire family had come to wish him a safe journey and to see him off. For a brief moment, he had wished they hadn't been there, that they'd just let him go. Then it would have been easier, especially with Arwen. Once he recovered enough, he'd fallen so quickly back into his old routines and habits, that it made leaving all the more difficult.

Unfortunately, he hadn't had the time to see Arwen alone one last time for his brothers insisted on helping him. They said if they didn't he'd wind up forgetting something. But he'd known better than that; he was sure he'd seen a tear in Ellandan's eye as he waved him goodbye. Despite all of the fond feelings he had for his family and home, he knew his separation from Arwen hardest part of being away. He tried to give her a proper goodbye, the goodbye two lovers should give, but he found it impossible with his family so close. In the end, he'd simply said goodbye and mounted his horse. He'd never felt so terrible and childish. She deserved better and he wasn't bold enough to give it in front of his family. He needed to say something to Elrond about it; the only question was how to broach the topic. It wasn't easy.

He was jerked out of his thoughts when his ears picked up a rustling of leaves behind him. Speaking gently, he called for his horse to slow as he tried to place the source of the noise. As Caladwen obeyed his command, he heard the faint pattering of horse hooves behind him. There was definitely someone behind him and they were slowing to match his pace, their horse's pattering matching his own. He wasn't sure if the person coming up on him was a friend or a foe, but he hoped they would pass without a question. Speaking softly once again, he urged Caladwen to move to the edge of the path. As she did so, Strider pulled the hood up to cover his face as he had seen the many rangers who frequented his home do. While it provided him with some secretiveness, he was also grateful for the shield it gave from the piercing sunlight. After so many hours in the afternoon sunlight, his head was beginning to ache. He knew it wasn't wise to stop here though. Silently he thanked his father, as he rummaged through his bag to find the vial he'd given him for the headaches he suffered. Once the medicine took effect, he would be able to continue without worrying about the pain increasing and it gave him a reason to slow down to see who this rider was. He allowed a few drops of the liquid to fall into his mouth before turning his attention back to the current situation.

There was only one safe pass through this area and Strider hoped to make it through without trouble. With luck, he thought, the rider would not even take note of his presence, but he merely wished from the rider to be a friend. As he slowed his horse even further, the pattering became evident once again and this time it didn't slow. Something strange struck him- somehow the rider was much closer, perhaps within a moment or two of passing him; he hadn't thought that much time had passed. Maybe, he told himself, he'd judged wrong at first. Before long, he felt the presence of someone behind him and heard the pattering in full force now.

'Good evening,' the rider spoke, nodding his head once in Strider's direction. As the rider passed, his rough hands tightly holding the reins of his horse, a piece of silver at the rider's neck splintered the waning sunlight, splashing it haphazardly on Strider's face. From the safety of the darkness his hood created, he tried to make out the shape of the silver piece. A circle, it seemed to be, with some shape inside. He strained his eyes, but could make out no more, yet it seemed familiar. Strider recalled the man's face as he had turned to greet him. Thankfully, he had not turned up his hood, allowing Strider to see his face fully. He had a full beard- the same dark brown as his shoulder length hair. His eyes appeared youthful, being a bright cool blue. Only the gray hairs that speckled his hair and beard showed his age. Strider tried to shake it, but could not help but think that he knew this man.

As the rider's pace quickened, Strider tried hard to place him. He recognized the cloak and those piercing eyes, he felt as if they'd looked at him several times before. And those hands, he knew them too. They were the hands of a healer and then it hit him.

'Glynn,' he called out, urging his horse to catch up with his old friend. When the rider didn't stop, however, he chided himself. Perhaps he was wrong; he shouldn't have been so foolish as to call out. When he caught up, he slowed his horse to match the other's pace. They rode in silence for a moment before the man finally spoke.

'Greetings Strider,' he turned to face the young man. 'It has been a long time.' Somewhat stunned by the sudden greeting and Glynn previous lack of response, Strider quickly recovered.

'Yes it has been,' he replied, relieved that he had been right after all.

'You seem to have fared well these past six months.'

'Aye, as have you. I trust all is going well now,' Strider returned in the same formal tone.

'Yes, young Strider, all is going well.'

'Good. Where are you headed to?'

'Caugha,' the healer answered. 'And yourself?'

'I'm headed to Caugha as well.'

'Then I guess we shall be traveling partners.'

'Indeed,' Strider answered with a slight nod of his head.

'What is it you seek in Caugha,' Glynn queried.

'The rangers we once traveled with.'

'It seems we are on much the same quest, for I seek them as well and might I say I am surprised not to see you with them. I remember your delight at having completed the initiation. Do you still honor your oath?'

'I do, but I was separated from them during an ambush nearly four months ago. I was captured and didn't see where they fled to. I don't even know who survived. Our captain, I know however, did not,' Aragorn's voice dropped at the end as he lowered his head in sorrow and guilt. He didn't see the beheading, but he'd heard it and that had been enough to haunt him with nightmares of it.

'Don't blame yourself, you can't be held at fault for what happened. You, yourself were captured, helpless to aid your captain.'

Strider had heard much the same from his family during his recovery as he berated himself over and over again for what happened. He'd worked hard to come to terms with it all, but there was still a long way to go. Setting aside the thoughts, he forced himself back to the current situation.

'And what have you been doing. You left so suddenly and no one would tell me what happened. I feared something terrible happened to you.'

It was Glynn's turn to pause. He still remembered that day he left vividly. Strider had just taken his Oath and had come to him to show off the brooch he'd just received. It was his badge of honor; the boy had worked hard for it and deserved it, but Glynn had yelled at him for his childishness. So consumed in the yelling he had been, that he never noticed Strider fading until he dropped and it was too late. He'd worked so hard to bring him back to life. Flashes of bloody towels, Strider's unmoving chest, and his lifeless grey eyes staring at him struck him as he remembered the day. They threatened to rob him of his breath. He'd worked hard to forget it all. At times, he still fought with himself; at times during those past six months he believed that he was responsible for the lad's death, though logically, he knew that Strider had lived. He was alive when he left camp that day, but still the lifeless eyes would forever haunt him.

Strider sensed the sadness and guilt flooding his friend's mind.

'What troubles you,' he asked quietly.

'Memories,' Glynn finally spoke after another short pause. 'Memories of that day when I allowed you to die.' Initially, Strider didn't understand, but as quickly as his mouth opened to question what Glynn referred to, Strider's mind made the connection.

'And now, my friend,' he laid his hand on the other's shoulder in encouragement, 'it is my turn to tell you don't worry. You aren't to blame. What has happened, has happened. It is done and shall remain so.'

'Aye,' he agreed, 'you speak the truth, but the images will forever haunt me. I am relieved,' he sat up straighter, attempting to change the mood of the conversation, 'to see that you are well, however.'

'That I am and am grateful for it.'

They rode on for a while longer, gently urging their tired horses to move just a little faster. Just before the darkness blotted out the last ray of sunlight, Strider asked to stop.

'I can't go any further,' he spoke, his voice weary.

'What is wrong,' Glynn stopped, turning to face the young man, surprised to see his face drawn. He hadn't shown any sign of injury. Perhaps he was simply tired; he didn't know how long Strider had been on the road.

'I'm afraid I'm not totally well,' Strider lowered his head, partly from shame of weakness, but also in an effort to ease the ache. 'Not all of the injuries I sustained in my capture healed properly.' And I fear they never shall, he added silently.

'What aches?'

'My head. I have never had it ache this much. I've tried a medicine given to me when I left my home, but it doesn't work for long and the ache returns each time with greater intensity. I'm sorry Glynn,' Strider met his friend's eyes, 'but I've pushed through it as long as possible for I know Caugha is within a day's reach and it would do us well to get as close as possible today, but I fear I shall not make it more than a few moments more before the pain is unbearable.'

Glynn now understood why the young man had kept his hood up even though the sun's rays poured down on them for the remainder of the afternoon.

'Unfortunately we can't rest here. I, however, have a medicine that will help you as we search for a campsite,' Glynn searched in his pack for the small glass vial that held the medicinal liquid. Once found, he held it out for Strider to take.

'What is it?' he asked as he took the vial and examined its contents. Opening the vial, he sniffed it. Strangely, the clear substance had no odor.

'It is a medicine brewed in my native land. I am not sure of the herbal names in Common tongue, but I guarantee it will relieve your pain. Take only a drop or two though for when one is not accustomed to it, its affects can be quite potent and unsettling.' Alarmed, Strider backed away from the vial and put the lid back on as if it suddenly became a poison whose vapors would kill.

'Is it addicting,' he asked.

'Of course not,' Glynn told him. 'Take it, it'll relieve you of your pain and allow us to find a campsite for you to rest.' Though he tried to reassure Strider, he could see that he was still unsure and hesitated to put the strange substance in his body.

'Am I not your friend and a capable healer. Would I ever lead you to harm?'

'No.'

'Then trust me Strider. Take it and be rid of your pain.'

Finding comfort in his words, Strider opened the vial once again. He was still surprised by the lack of odor; rarely had he taken a medicine that didn't hold an odor. Attached to the lid was a small cylinder. Gently, he plucked it from its resting spot on the lid and dipped one end into the vial, plugging the other with his finger. He carefully pulled it out and allowed just a drop to fall on his tongue. It tasted foul and he instantly regretting taking it. It was worse than his father's medicines he thought. Opening his eyes that he didn't realize he'd shut until then, he saw that as he'd fought to recover from the taste, Glynn had taken the vial and returned it to his pouch.

'It will take a short while to take effect, but you will begin to feel its effects before long. Until then, however, we will take a short rest,' he informed Strider.

'Thanks,' Strider mumbled as he lowered his aching head to rest on the neck of his horse. The past few minutes of talking and debating had not helped his head, rather it was now worse. He couldn't understand why this time it was so bad. Perhaps, he though, his thinking delayed somewhat from the pain, it was from the riding. He had ridden, after all, for nearly seven hours with only a few short breaks to rest his horse. Whatever the cause, however, he didn't care right now. He hurt too much to do so, rather, he allowed his thoughts to wander.

The next thing he knew, someone had a firm grip on his shoulder and was calling for him to wake. Strider found it difficult, however, to wake himself. He felt as though there was a fog over him.

Some how, though, he managed to open his eyes and face his worried friend, but he found the face blurry and unfocused. Perhaps, there was more to this headache than he had assumed, he slowly wondered as he heard himself distantly answer that he was fine to Glynn's concerned query. They were moving now he realized, though when they had began, he couldn't recall.

Occasionally, when he was very sick, he remembered, he'd get a headache so bad that he felt sluggish even though he'd not take something. Perhaps, his fuzzy mind thought, this was what was happening now.

'We are here,' someone told him, gently helping him to dismount. It was Glynn, his aching mind told him. He felt himself being set down on the cold, damp earth. In the distance, he heard a rustling. Someone, Glynn, reminded himself, was looking for something.

'Let me help you,' he heard him self say, though when he decided to speak he didn't remember. Struggling with his body, he forced it to follow the offer of the words and stumbled towards the blurry figure.

'Strider,' Glynn turned to the man trying to meet him, 'you are in no condition to help me. You need rest.' He turned the man back towards the original spot he had set him down. Fortunately, Glynn had found Strider's bedroll without trouble. In the condition the man was currently, he didn't want him lying on the cold ground and possibly catch a cold.

'But I want to help,' Strider mumbled as he was led back. Glynn decided to ignore the man, instead setting him on the ground. Undoing the bedroll, he shook it out and laid it on the ground, smoothing it somewhat. He then turned back to Strider, who'd fallen to one side, and carefully moved him onto the bedroll. Once the man was settled, turned to setting up camp. He doubted Strider would wake during the night. Glancing at the young man as he did so, he wondering if he'd perhaps given him too much of the medicine and he hoped that he hadn't caused him harm.

* * *

Thanks for reading. 


	4. Friendly Equivocations

Here's the next chapter; hopefully you guys like it.

Please read, relax, and enjoy.

Warnings: some violence, not much, no blood.

* * *

Friendly Equivocations

Once he finished setting up camp and eating his supper, Glynn sat down to watch over Strider, now in an in-between state. He wasn't quite asleep, yet not coherent enough to be awake. Soon after Glynn settled down on the ground, Strider started mumbling. Glynn couldn't make out what he was saying nor did he care. The medicine was in its first stage. Soon, Glynn knew, it would move into the second stage. He didn't know exactly when; it was different in each person, but it always manifested in the same way, especially the first time. It was important, he knew, to keep a close watch on people who were unaccustomed to the powerful potion to make sure there were no ill effects from it.

He hadn't planned on caring for the young man today. His plans had been simple- go meet the rangers in Caugha, where he expected to see Strider. Thus, seeing the young man today had been a surprise. This fit his plans even better, he thought. If he remembered correctly, he thought, Strider should be twenty-one now. Though he still looked like a teenage boy, he had obviously changed quite a bit. No longer did he seem to be cocky and bent on status. Completing his mission, he told himself, might prove to be a little more difficult than he'd anticipated.

An unfamiliar noise broke his thoughts. Sitting up straighter, he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as he quickly scanned his surroundings to place the noise. When it came again, he saw that it came from Strider, who was up and walking towards the horses.

'Strider,' Glynn rose to catch the man before he got to the horses and startled them.

'Quick Glynn,' Strider called excitedly. 'We must get to the rangers in Caugha. They need our help. Ada said there was an evil on the loose, a sorcerer. He is asking too many questions about my past. I have to save them. I have to safeguard the Shards. Ada warned me not to let Narsil out of my sight.'

Glynn couldn't make sense of much of Strider's crazed ramblings, but part of it did catch his attention, causing him to halt. Strider spoke of Narsil, the sword of Elendil. So he did bear it, but where, he wondered. He saw only the one sword Strider carried and he doubted the man would keep a broken sword at his side when the threat of danger lurked. Once again, a cry pulled him from his thoughts. This time it was Caladwen. Strider was trying to until her, but she was alarmed by her owner's drunk-like actions. Glynn saw her preparing to rise up. If she did, Strider would undoubtedly be caught underneath.

'Strider,' he called again. When the man paid him no heed, however, he ran and pulled Strider away by his shoulders. Struggling against the grip, Strider shoved his shoulder into his attacker. It caught Glynn unaware and he let go of Strider, who made it back to Caladwen as he recovered from the surprise. This time she did rise. Glynn realized he had just enough time to react. He grabbed hold of Strider and pulled the clueless man out of the way of the horse's falling hooves. As he pulled the man backwards, their feet became entangled. Glynn was able to maintain his balance until Strider, as unbalanced as he was before, stumbled, falling into Glynn. Strider landed on top, his sudden weight knocking the wind out of Glynn.

Dazed from the sudden movements, Strider didn't move for a few moments. Then he slowly rolled, tumbling limply to the ground. For a bit neither moved, then Glynn did. He glanced at Strider, satisfied that he still lived when he saw the moving of his chest. Still weak and sore from the fall, Glynn opted to leave the ranger where he laid. Strider, however, thought differently, as he finally moved. Rolling onto his side, he began to laugh.

'Wasn't that fun, Glynn,' he stopped laughing, though he still bore a huge grin that irked Glynn. 'Reminds me of my days in Rivendell, playing with my brothers. Ah, such wonderful times.'

'How do you feel,' the healer asked after a long pause during which he tried hard to check his growing anger and remind himself he'd done this.

'Fine, great, wonderful,' Strider rattled on. 'Let's go on to Caugha,' he rose, moving again toward Caladwen. Seeing her master approach, she backed up. Wordlessly, Glynn rose to grab Strider's shoulder once again.

'Not now my friend,' Strider said as he shook free of the grasp and continued on. 'We can't play anymore. We've got to be going.'

Frustrated by Strider's stubbornness, Glynn weighed his options quickly. He knew that he would lose in a fight against the man; the powerful drugs coursing through his veins had decided that. In the end, he decided it would be best to knock him out with a stick. Although it was crude, it was effective. At least, he thought, he could explain away a bruise; other things he knew he could not. Looking around, he found a branch nearby that would work and picked it up.

As he advanced on Strider, he heaved it over his shoulder. If he was lucky, Strider wouldn't turn around. Fortunately, his luck held until the branch collided with the man's head. Although it hit solidly, Strider didn't fall, leaving Glynn to wonder if he would. Glynn let out a sigh of relief when at last he watched Strider tumble to the side. He waited a moment before dropping the branch, though. Satisfied that Strider wasn't going to move this time, he walked over to check the damage he'd inflicted. Strider still lived, but he wouldn't be causing any more trouble tonight. In the morning, he would have a headache, but that was easily remedied.

After resting for a bit, Glynn grabbed Strider by his arms and dragged him back to his bed roll. Leaving Strider in a heap there, he sat down next to a nearby tree and leaned up against it. Strider had worn him out, but he couldn't let himself sleep. Even though the man was unconscious, the medicine was still coursing through his veins and could produce ill effects. He also worried that Strider, for some reason, might awake and seek to cause another stir.

The remainder of the night passed uneventfully for which Glynn was grateful. As the night wound on, he allowed himself to drift, yet kept a watch on Strider, but the unconscious man didn't begin to stir until dawn.

'Strider,' he called softly as he moved closer to the man. Strider answered him with a groan, his hand moving to his head, gently touching the side Glynn had hit. From where he sat, in front of Strider, he could see a bruise already beginning to form on his side, the red mark taking on a purplish hue.

'Strider,' he called again.

'It was not that I didn't hear you the first time, my friend, but that my head aches too much to answer,' Strider spoke softly. 'What happened?'

'You had an accident during the night,' Glynn told him. 'Took a hard fall while sleepwalking.'

'Sleepwalking?' Strider's voice rose though it caused him to wince in pain.

'Yes, you insisted on going on to Caugha last night. I'm afraid you terrified your horse. She rose and sent you flying back.'

As Glynn explained, Strider gently rose. He tried to keep his head from moving, but it felt as though someone had replaced his brain with wet, soggy towels that constantly sloshed, despite his tedious movements. Each time his head moved, he felt another drum of pain. When he was finally in a sitting position, he drew up his knees, folded his arms over top of them and laid his head to rest there. He sat there for a few moments, waiting for the heavy pounding to stop. Once it did, he spoke again.

'I have a vague memory of last night. I can recall being near Caladwen as you said. I was pulled from behind, but I got loose. As I got closer to Caladwen, she rose up and then everything went black.'

'Lift your head so that I can look at the wound,' Glynn commanded.

Strider sighed, but did as he was asked. Thankfully, it didn't look swollen. He then looked at Strider's eyes, checking to see if he still had a concussion. The lack of movement indicated he still did.

'How is your sight?'

'Fine. The wound hasn't affected it.'

'Good, it should heal nicely then.'

'That I am glad to hear, but I don't think I'll be able to continue on to Caugha today,' Strider said, laying his head back on his arms.

'We must go on though,' Glynn told him. 'We do not know how long they will be there. We must arrive as quickly as possible.'

'Aye, you've told me, but I can't ride with this headache. I fear the ride will cause me to faint.'

Hearing this, Glynn left Strider to ease his aching head and fetched his pack. As he return, he drew from it the same vial he'd given Strider last night.

'Take a drop of this,' he held of the vial. 'Once it begins to work, we can continue on.'

'What is it,' he asked. Glynn wasn't surprised by the question, this was normal. No one remembered taking it, especially in their first week.

'I've given it to you before, but you were dangerously wounded and only half conscious at the time. You likely don't recall it.'

Strider contemplated his words for a moment, but as the pounding increased, he opted to take the medicine offered. Not bothering to lift his head just yet, he stuck his hand out for the vial.

'Just a drop, mind you,' Glynn rose once he was sure that Strider would take the medicine. 'I'm going to pack things up. Once you take it, lie down and let me know when you feel well enough to travel.'

As Glynn left, Strider lifted his head and placed a drop of the liquid on his tongue. The instant it touched his tongue, his mouth was filled with a hideous taste and his mind with a vague memory of having tasted the same foul taste in his mouth, but he couldn't recall when. While he wished he could remember, he satisfied himself with the knowledge that Glynn was his friend and not interested in harming him. Heeding his friend's advice, he lay back down and waited for the paint to disappear. As he waited, he allowed his thoughts to drift and before he realized it was so deep in though, he didn't realize the pounding was gone.

'Strider,' Glynn shook the man gently, trying to bring him to reality. 'Strider,' he spoke sharper this time and had success.

'Whah?' The young man's eyes cracked open.

'How are you feeling?'

'Feeling?' Strider's brow bent in confusion.

'Yes, is your headache gone?' For a moment, Strider didn't say anything leaving Glynn to wonder if he had fallen asleep.

'Headache's gone.'

'We need to get going then. Are you ready?'

'Huh,' Strider had "dozed" off again, Glynn thought.

'Are you feeling okay to go on to Caugha?'

'Of course,' he answered, his eyes finally opening fully. Glynn saw their slightly unfocused appearance. He knew it wasn't from the concussion, but from the medicine. It had finally taken effect, but as with last night, it would be a bit before it reached its full potency and Strider felt its true effects.

'Horses are all packed,' Glynn said. 'We're ready to go.'

'Then lets go,' Strider agreed as he jumped to his feet. The movement was a bit sudden, however, and he swayed. As he worked to regain his balance, he found it difficult. At last, Glynn stepped in, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

'Are you alright?' he asked.

'I'm fine. Just a bit light headed. Vision's a little blurry as well.'

'Side effect of the concussion you suffered last night,' Glynn quickly explained.

'That was my thought as well.'

'Do you feel well enough to go on?'

'Of course,' Strider shook himself free of the grasps of his friend. 'I said I'm fine. Come lets go,' he spoke harshly and began to move to his horse. Walking, he found was almost as difficult as standing for the ground kept moving. He wondered to himself, how Glynn managed to walk so easy. Perhaps, he reasoned, Glynn was accustomed to it. Maybe you didn't notice it when you were healthy. That had to be it; he knew there was a time before this when walking was not a problem. With Glynn's help, he made it safely to the horses. He felt himself mounting Caladwen and the slight jerk as she took off, trotting behind Glynn.

As they continued on, Strider began to feel better. Gradually the ground ceased moving about him and his sight cleared, as did his mind. He truly felt fine. In fact, he felt better than he had in a long time. Realizing that he was behind Glynn and that they were moving slowly, he urged Caladwen to use her speed.

As they passed Glynn, Strider called, 'Come my friend. We need not dally any longer. We are but a few hours away; our horses have speed, let us use it.'

Strider's sudden appearance and call caught Glynn of guard. It took a few seconds for Strider's words to sink it, but once they did, Glynn took off as well, moving fast to catch up with Strider, who himself had sped up. If they maintained this speed, Glynn estimated, they would arrive mid-afternoon. As he caught up, he slowed his horse to match Strider. The man turned to smile at him.

'I see you've caught up,' he spoke loudly over the horse's heaving pattering.

'Yes,' he answered, noting the same glint in Strider's eyes that he'd seen last night. It was working, he told himself. 'How are you feeling?'

'Great, never better,' Strider answered.

'Good,' Glynn added under his breath, smiling.


	5. Familiar Strangers

Well, at long last another chapter. Writing's been delayed by studying for the GRE among other things. A little more action in this, but it's going to be a slow build. Somehow I got the idea in my head I need to write five stories (this is number 2), and I am working on creating a plot that will last through those stories. So please, bear with me on this; things will begin to happen and when they do, I don't know if they'll stop.

So, please relax, read, and review. Thanks. Oh and I don't own LOTR.

* * *

Familiar Strangers

They arrived in Caugha just as Glynn estimated they would. Not once on their ride did Strider slow, thus by the time they arrived their horses were spent. Gaining entrance to the small village was not easy- they were wary of strangers. Fortunately, Glynn was able to convince them they would cause no trouble and would only remain a short while.

Currently, they walked on the village's main street, leading their horses to the inn where they hoped to find news of the rangers. The man they spoke to at the gate said two strangers had arrived yesterday, seeking a place to stay for the night while they took care of business. In such as small village, there fortunately was only one inn. If their luck held, the keeper would know where they went to and Strider and Glynn would not have to search much.

As for Strider, the drug had run its course and he was now his normal self, though Caladwen still kept her distance. He'd hoped the drug would remain with Strider until they met with the rangers; there would be less risk to his plans then. Giving another does was also out of the question unless Strider asked for it. Trying to force it would only make him suspicious. Thus far, he'd been lucky and he didn't want to ruin that luck.

'We are here,' Strider announced, stopping in front of weathered wood building. Glynn watched briefly as Strider spoke gently to Caladwen. When he couldn't make out the words, he turned to tie his horse. They could have stabled their horses, Glynn realized, but there was no sense to it, given the brevity of their business. Before he finished, Strider asked if he was ready.

'Yes,' he turned, tying off the last knot. Strider had not tied Caladwen. 'Are you not worried she will run or be taken?'

'She will be safe. She knows not to run or let anyone steal her. Though she is wary of me now, in her heart she knows not many will treat her as nice as I,' Strider explained. 'Let us go inquire about the strangers.'

Strider walked in and Glynn followed, slightly confused. How did Strider know his horse was safe? As he found himself caught up in thought, Strider found the innkeeper and began questioning him. The man was old. Glynn guessed that he was easily nearing 50 with his gray hair and wrinkled face. His raspy voice and an occasional cough also told Glynn the man was ill. Before Glynn could join Strider and the old man, their conversation was over and Strider was walking to meet him.

'He said the strangers wore green cloaks, fastened by a five pointed star in a circle.'

'They must be the rangers then,' Glynn said as they left the inn.

'They stayed the night, paid and left.'

'Any word on where they went?'

'He said they asked where they might re-supply their herb stores, but I doubt they are still there. They left the inn mid-morning. He also mentioned they stabled two horses and that one was limping badly.'

'She probably needed shoeing if they brought her here and that would easily take half a day. If we are lucky, they are still there,' Glynn deduced. 'We must leave at once.' He untied his horse while Strider took the reins of Caladwen. They moved as quickly through the bustling town as possible. The innkeeper had told Strider the shoer was on the other side of the village. Fortunately, their luck held as they caught the rangers just as they were leaving.

'Folant,' Strider exclaimed as he caught sight of the old man. While, he dodged people to meet him, Glynn followed, trying to place him. To him, he appeared to be a random old man leading away a beautiful brown horse. As they neared, Glynn saw the old man didn't recognize them either, at first. Then his face lit up with surprise and recognition.

'Strider,' he exclaimed as the young man came upon him. 'Is that really you? We thought you were dead.' As he spoke, another man came out of the store.

'Who did you find this time,' he asked, annoyed. The old man was a wonderful traveling companion, but he seemed to find someone to talk everywhere they went.

'Don't talk to your elder that way, Penrose,' Folant warned in a semi-mock. 'It's Strider.'

'Strider,' Penrose turned to face the young man, 'well this is a surprise. We thought you were dead.'

'So I've heard,' Strider said, annoyed.

'I'm afraid we can't stay. Bari expects us back today and it's at least an hour's ride, if not more,' Penrose spoke.

'That matters not for we have come seeking you anyway. We wish to speak with the captain about resuming our positions.'

'We,' Folant questioned.

'Aye, Glynn had come with me as well,' Strider gestured to the healer, who had remained quiet and out of the way.

'This is truly a happy meeting,' Folant exclaimed. 'We thought we'd never see you either old friend,' Folant held his hand out to Glynn, who took it. As Folant pulled him in an embrace, the old man stopped for a second as an uneasy feeling spread through his body. He'd always had a strange ability to sense when something wasn't right and it was telling him something wasn't right.

'It is good to see you as well,' Glynn returned, appearing not to notice the brief hesitation.

'We must return to camp,' Penrose interrupted the greetings again. As if to emphasize his statement, he took the reins of his horse and began to walk to the main gate.

'Yes, yes,' Strider answered, an edge of annoyance in his voice. They followed suit, talking their horses' reins and began to follow Penrose. Folant moved forward to walk with him, while Strider and Glynn walked behind. As they walked to the edge of town, they continued to talk.

'How do the men fare?' Strider asked, recounting mentally the ambush they suffered.

'There are not many of us left. We lost nearly half in the ambush. Some right away, others from their injuries. Tudor took it very hard, but he persevered. He's quite a healer now,' Folant explained. 'The countryside is full of hatred. This is the first village that has welcomed us in several leagues and then they would only permit a couple of us to enter.'

'We encountered the same distrust,' Glynn agreed.

'Bari has tried to keep morale up, but it has been difficult with everything. And now with winter coming,' Penrose trailed off.

'What happened to Yestin,' Glynn asked.

'He was killed in the ambush,' Strider spoke suddenly and solemnly. Glynn started slightly; he hadn't expected Strider to answer. He didn't know Strider had seen his death.

'Aye,' Penrose spoke somberly. 'We lost him and Romney. There was so much confusion. Out of the chaos, Bari emerged as leader. He was a natural; everyone looked to him.'

For a moment no one spoke.

'And what of you Strider,' Folant broke the silence. 'We looked for you after the ambush, but found little evidence.

'They took me and I was tortured by a strange man who seemed to know me. He left me for dead. Fortunately, my brothers found me and took me to my father who tended to my wounds. I remained there until I was healed and then set out to rejoin our group.'

'And I am sure Bari would welcome you back as would everyone,' Penrose looked over his shoulder at Strider.

'What of you Glynn,' Folant asked. 'Where did you go? Are you well now?'

'I am,' he answered. 'After I left, I returned home.'

'Is that all,' Penrose asked.

'There is not much to tell,' Glynn explained.

'Well I am sure both of you will be welcomed back,' Penrose spoke after a short, awkward silence. When they at last reached the edge of the town, they mounted their horses and set off for the campsite. None spoke during the couple of hours it took to get there. As they came upon the edges of camp, a man stopped them. Though he recognized Folant and Penrose, he questioned the two that came with them.

'They are safe, Rhydwyn,' Penrose assured him as they trotted on. After passing the sentry post, they dismounted and walked the remaining distance to the camp. It was smaller and more compact than Strider remembered. All were seated in the haphazard circle around the fire eating their supper. On their right side, Strider saw Bari conferring with two men. As they walked closer, Strider recognized one of the men as Tudor, the young healer who had taken over when Glynn left. The other man he saw was Trystan, likely Bari's new second.

'Captain,' Folant spoke excitedly. As they walked through camp, Strider noticed the men looking up at them. Most seemed to recognize them and reminded those that didn't, who they were. 'We've returned with the supplies,' Folant spoke once they were a few feet from the captain.

'As well as some old friends I see,' Bari smiled as he rose to meet them. 'It is good to see you both again. You have been sorely missed. Please sit with us.'

'We don't want to interrupt,' Strider said.

'Nonsense,' Bari waved his hand in the air. 'We're finished. Sit,' he commanded as he took his seat again. 'Tell us of your adventures.'

As Strider and Glynn sat and told their respective tales, Folant and Penrose retrieved their bowls and sat with the rest of the men to eat.

'What do you plan to do now,' Bari asked once they had related their adventures.

'We had hoped to rejoin. That was our purpose in Caugha- to seek you out,' Strider explained.

'Of course you may Strider,' Bari paused, a look of unease spreading on his face.

'I know,' Glynn replied to his unspoken statement.

'What,' Strider looked at both of them, trying to understand what he had missed.

'I ran off Strider. There is doubt to whether I am capable of continuing as a ranger. He feels and I cannot fault him, that the stress may simply be too great for me. He doesn't want to risk another break down. And I do not either,' Glynn explained to his young friend. 'I will prepare my horse to leave tonight,' he told Bari and began to rise.

'No,' Bari stopped him. 'There is no sense in your leaving tonight. It's nearly dusk and too dangerous to travel alone around here. Stay the night and let us talk of old times.'

'Thank you.' Glynn happily sat back down.

'You three may talk of old times, but I must go rest for the night,' Strider informed them.

'Are you all right,' Bari asked. When he last saw Strider, the man never turned in early.

'It's just the beginnings of a headache. I hope rest will keep it from becoming my usual.'

'Usual,' Tudor queried.

'My father was unable to heal all of my injuries I sustained. Headaches are a lingering side effect of the head injury I suffered,' Strider explained.

'Would you like some of the medicine,' Glynn offered. For the briefest of seconds, Strider hesitated, a part of him desiring to have another taste of it, but something told him to refuse. 'Hopefully sleep will ease it.'

'Perhaps Tudor has something to help. He has become quite the healer,' Bari though aloud.

'No, thank you,' Strider allowed himself a small smile at their offers. 'Maybe if it does not permit me to sleep.'

'As you with,' Bari nodded. 'Tomorrow we ride to meet the elves. Sleep well Strider.'

'I shall. And I shall be ready tomorrow morning to return to my duties,' he said before turning to walk away. He stopped by Caladwen to retrieve his bedroll. She was still a little wary of him, but he soothed her in the elvish tongue she had grown up hearing. Strider laid his bedroll near the men, but kept enough distance so their talking would not keep him awake.

As he settled down, he though back to Bari's decision on Glynn. He now understood why Glynn was a risk, but didn't quite understand why they could not deal with that risk. Had it not been a risk to take him on last year? What else would Glynn do? Would he go home? Though Strider was sure he would be glad to, he knew Glynn was not welcome there. At least Bari had let him stay the night. It was no surprise to him that Bari was captain; he'd always showed the sort of qualities needed. He was glad to be back and to serve Bari.

Before Strider realized it, he was drifting back to consciousness. On his legs he felt the warm, inviting sun; on his face hot breath and in his head a dull ache reminiscent of the headache he had last night.

'Strider, you must wake,' a familiar voice commanded him. When his still sleepy mind realized he'd woken late, his eyes shot open and he made to rise, but stopped, shutting his eyes quickly as a low groan escaped from his lips. The light that a moment ago was so warm and inviting now penetrated his eyes, searing his mind and increasing the pounding in his head.

'Strider, up,' Glynn, who Strider had deduced the voice belonged to, commanded again. Forcing himself to move beyond the pain, he finally answered.

'Aye, give me a moment,' he spoke, knowing he needed to get up. He was a ranger again and had duties to fulfill. Forcing himself to relax, he prepared himself for pain and opened his eyes once again. This time it added only a minor ache to the pounding. As he rose, he tried to keep his head still. Unfortunately, he thought, he'd become good at doing this.

'I will be leaving when you do," Glynn told him as he stood.

'Where will you go,' Strider asked, trying to hide the ache. Though he would never ask, he wished Glynn would leave him some of the potion, in case his headaches worsened. He hoped Tudor would have something of equal caliber.

'Back to Caugha I suppose. I need to re-supply before I head out again. From there I may go to Rohan or Gondor. Perhaps a village there or on the way will have need of a healer.'

Strider nodded, but immediately regretted it as his headache flared. He struggled to hide the pain.

'I must get my gear packed and see to my duties,' Strider said, hoping to end the conversation quickly and be able to work in silence with his head. Fortunately, Glynn agreed and left him. Moving carefully, Strider went about his duties. A short while later when everything was done, Strider met the rest of the rangers to set out. However, as he tried to mount Caladwen, the ache that had been a dull roar exploded causing his vision to dim and lose grip of Caladwen's reins. For a brief second he felt himself falling and everything turned to black.

Pain met him as he return to consciousness. Voices were the culprit he realized after a moment of slowed thinking. They were arguing about something. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying and he really didn't care. All that mattered to him was that it hurt his head.

Strider tried to open his mouth to speak, but found he could do little more than groan. It got their attention, however. The voices stopped and their owners knelt beside him as he finally opened his eyes. He as given only a few moments reprieve before being bombarded with questions.

'How are you feeling,' was the first one his mind was able to process. This time he was able to open his mouth enough to answer that he was fine. The three merely laughed.

'How is your head,' Glynn asked.

'It'd be better if you didn't talk,' Strider snapped. Seeing the looks on their faces, he immediately apologized.

'I've got some medicine in my pouch that will help ease the ache. I'll retrieve it for you,' Tudor rose.

'I thought we'd settled this,' Glynn grabbed his arm. 'I've been treating him for this. His headaches are not normal. They are severe and very painful. I have a potion that he has been taking for them. It is the only medicine that has worked.'

'Is it safe for him to continue to take? Painkillers like that can be extremely addictive.'

'Thus far he's experienced none of its ill effects.

'Will he be able to travel?'

'Aye.'

'Give it to him,' Tudor sighed. 'We can't be caught here any longer. The elves are expecting us and it will take a few hours to get there.'

Glynn reached into his pack and withdrew the familiar vial, placing a drop in Strider's mouth. Once he returned the vial to his pack, he turned to Bari.

'I ask to ride along. Simply to monitor his condition.'

'I thought you said there were no ill effects,' Tudor exclaimed, turning to face the older healer.

'I said, he's yet to experience any, but he still could,' Glynn hiss at Tudor. 'While his body had become quite accustomed to it, it may still pose some risk to him.' Turning to Bari, he spoke calmly, 'I won't come near the talks.' Bari thought for a moment before acquiescing.

'Do you feel ready to go,' Bari asked Strider. Surprised at finally being spoken to, Strider hesitated a moment before answering.

'Yes, the ache has begun to fade.'

'Good. Help him onto his horse,' Bari commanded Glynn and Tudor. 'Glynn ride beside him.'

In a manner of minutes, Strider was up on Caladwen, his head protesting slightly at the movement and they were off to meet the elves. Tudor remained near Strider and Glynn for a while, leaving only when he was convinced Strider's pain was completely gone and he was fully alert. Glynn was grateful when Tudor left as then he could finally speak to Strider alone. Before he could say anything, however Strider spoke.

'I'm much better. The pain is gone. Thank you.'

'You are welcome,' he gave a slight pause. 'Curious meeting today.'

'Aye,' Strider agreed. 'But we need it. There is no way we could hope to survive the winter without their help. None of the villages are willing.'

'I suppose it is necessary,' Glynn shrugged his shoulders. 'Have you ever met a wood elf?'

'From Mirkwood? No, but I came close. One came to my home just a few weeks after I left. Have you?'

'Yes and if I may say, they are not the friendliest of creatures.'

'What happened?'

'It was sometime ago. I was following Mirkwood forest to a meeting with the rangers. It began to storm heavily. I decided to duck into Mirkwood to seek shelter. I was low on rations, so I caught a rabbit for supper. No sooner had I picked up the rabbit than did an elf drop out of the tree. His bow was armed and aimed at my chest. He shouted something in elvish and then turned to the common. He said I was trespassing and must leave immediately or he would take me to King Thranduil for punishment. I explained my situation, but he still told me I had to leave. Seeing he wouldn't budge, I packed as quickly as I could. Apparently,' Glynn paused, taking a deep breath, 'it was not quick enough and he fired an arrow over my head into the tree. I then hurried to tie everything onto my horse and leave. When I arrived at the meeting point, I was terribly cold and had become ill. It nearly killed me.'

'That doesn't sound like the elves,' Strider said after a moment. 'Maybe you were on sacred ground or misunderstood.'

'No, I understood that princeling clearly,' he replied firmly.

'He was a prince?'

'Aye. King Thranduil's only son: Legolas.'

'Well, I hope I should never have to meet him. I imagine he's quite a curmudgeon.'

'Oh, yes,' Glynn stated as the conversation trailed off. As they rode on, Glynn watched carefully to make sure Strider didn't yet enter the second stage. It had to wait until the meeting began, any sooner and everything would be spoiled. He hoped Strider's body was already becoming accustomed to it.

A few hours later, they arrived at the meeting site on the plains next to the southern edge of Mirkwood. As he dismounted, Strider saw the elves. For an instant, his anger flared for what that princeling had done to Glynn, but he managed to quell the unusual rise of anger. He couldn't allow his anger to ruin this.

'Mae gevonnen,' Strider heard a tall blond haired one say. He was flanked by elves in clothing similar to his own. Surrounding them were guards wielding the most beautiful bows Strider had ever seen. Elladan and Elrohir had told him of the legendary archery skills of the Mirkwood elves. Their friend, who Strider had missed seeing last year, they said, shot a deer fifty yards away in the dark forest during a heavy rainstorm. Though Strider was aware of the amazing skills of elves, something told him that story was a tad exaggerated.

'Mae gevonnen,' Bari returned, walking up to meet the elf who'd greeted them. Bari's second went up with him while the rest spread out, keeping watch over their captain as the elven guards were. The two spoke for a moment while Strider glanced around. He suddenly felt very nervous and anxious. Everything was clear and he felt like he could wrestle a wild boar and win. He was lost in his thoughts when Bari called him. Looking to his captain, he saw a gesture for him to join them.

'Yes sir,' he spoke, a slight question in his voice, one he met them.

'He asked to see you,' Bari nodded towards the elf. 'He says he recognizes you. Do you know him,' Strider studied the elf, but couldn't place him.

'No.'

'I met you last year, I believe,' the elf spoke to him. 'You were ill, I tried to help, but you fought me. I decided to go get help from the elves.'

'I don't remember,' Strider stated again. 'Who are you? Perhaps a name might jog my memory.'

'Forgive me, my manners have escaped me. I am Legolas, son of King Thranduil and prince of Mirkwood.'

Before Strider could prepare himself for it, something clicked in his mind causing fury to spread like wildfire through his body. He saw himself lash out at the prince, grasping him firmly by his throat. It happened so quickly. Legolas' elven reflexes failed him nor did his elvish strength aid him, as the man's grip was too strong to pry loose. He faintly heard the man shouting something about him being a cruel, evil elf. In the next instant, Legolas' guards grasped the man, pulling him off their prince. As soon as the hands left his throat, he rubbed his neck, still feeling where the fingers were. He was surprised by the strength of the grip. It was far greater than a normal man's and yet this man appeared no different. Legolas took a step forward, a look of determination and confusion on his face.

'Why,' he asked, his voice a little raspy.

'You are despicable and deserve to die,' Strider spat back, fury in his eyes.

'You have tried to assassinate the prince,' one of Legolas' advisor's spoke. 'The meeting is over. You will be taken to the king who will give you your punishment,' the elf paused, 'death.'


	6. Tirades and Accords

Hopefully this satisfies those who have been waiting. I apologize for the wait; place the blame on school and the GRE. Anyway, I hope I haven't lost anyone to my lack of updates. I'm working on updating every other week now. So please read, relax, and enjoy. Oh and please review. I love to get feedback.

Warnings: angry words

* * *

Tirades and Accords

Bari's first reaction was shock. Just seconds ago, Legolas was questioning Strider on his identity when the young ranger had suddenly flared out, attempting to strangle the elf prince. And now he feared for the safety of all present for around him all bows were drawn with an arrow notched in preparation.

'Stop,' he called out, a hint of desperation in his voice. 'Put your bows down,' he commanded his men. Although they hesitated for a brief second, they obeyed. A few seconds later, Legolas nodded to his elves to stand down. Now that the imminent fear of a fight was gone, Bari turned his attention to the catalyst and his victim.

'Prince Legolas,' he began, 'are you injured.'

'Nay,' the elf answered in typical stubbornness, despite the fact that he still held a hand protectively over his neck. 'But I would like to know the reason for such hostility.'

'As would I,' Bari glared at Strider, but the man gave no answer.

'Do not worry,' one of the advisors surrounding Legolas spoke. 'King Thranduil will get an answer from him before he sentences him.' Turning to Legolas, he spoke quickly, 'We should prepare to leave. We cannot do business with them.' Legolas nodded in agreement.

'Ready the horses,' Legolas told a guard on his left. 'We are leaving. Bind the prisoner.'

Hearing this, Strider struggled against the hands that held him, speaking in a voice that sounded more like a growl than anything else.

'I knew it. He was right about you. You are a heartless, cold elf. You've unjustly sentenced me to death when it is you who should be.'

Strider's tirade set off anger in Legolas and he moved to look at the man, glaring at him.

'I would kill you now, but I fear I would anger my father for not giving him the opportunity, human,' Legolas spoke vehemently. Everyone stared at him, he noticed, taken aback by his sudden outburst. Silently chiding himself for the sudden display he forced himself to calm before he spoke again.

'Where do you find cause for such words.' Legolas held his anger, but his voice was still angry and determined. 'I have never mistreated you. As you have told me, we never even met, insolent human,' Legolas felt his anger rise and checked it before it caused him to act rashly.

'Once you bind him, gag him as well. I do not wish to listen to him on our journey back,' Legolas spoke coolly, looking at the head guard holding the man. Then the elf turned; everything was almost set to return home.

'Wait,' Bari called. 'Do not call off the meeting over the actions of one man. We still have much to discuss. We have sought your aid, the aid that we need so much for this winter,' Bari paused. When Legolas stopped, he continued, 'If you do not help us, no one else will. Do not allow one man's stupidity to alter your mind.'

'I have already been attacked by one of your men,' Legolas spoke harshly. 'How do I know it will not happen again? What guarantee can you give me another will not?'

'I promise you none will. We are good men,' Bari spoke emphatically, but he saw no lessening in Legolas' face. 'None will come close to you. You may guard them as you wish. I will be the only one to be near you and you may guard me as well.'

Legolas considered his offer. It was reasonable.

'Set a guard on the rangers and a couple over captain Bari. Take the prisoner over to the horses and set a watch on him. Do not allow him to escape.'

The guard nodded, relaying the command to another guard, who arranged the watch over the rangers and Bari. Meanwhile the head guard, with the help of a few other elven guards took Strider, already bound and gagged for the journey, over to the designated spot. As the commands were being carried out, Legolas and Bari began to negotiate.

'My father has considered your request for aid. We have always had good relations with the rangers of the north and wish to extend these good relations to you as well. This being the case, he has agreed to allow you hunting rights on the northern end of Mirkwood.'

'How deep?'

'You will be confined to the eastern bank of the Forest River. You may cross the forest to reach it, by you must travel close to the river. Sentries will be posted to ensure you do not crossover.'

'I understand. My men will not disgrace your lands.'

Legolas allowed a slight look of disbelief to show at this. He was unsure his father would be so pleased at providing aid to the rangers after one had tried to kill him, but in his gut, he knew he could trust Bari, even if his emotions told him men were untrustworthy.

'And I would ask you to deliver my thanks to King Thranduil for his generous offer, which we will readily accept. I must ask, however, concerning the other matter I requested aid for.' Legolas nodded in remembrance.

'You may take shelter in any part of the northern forest as deep as the river runs.'

'Thank you once again. We will readily accept this offer as well,' Bari paused a moment. While they had been negotiating, the elven guards flanking him had relaxed as had those guarding his men. 'In return for your generosity, I offer the services of my men for whatever need might arise.'

'Your offer is graciously accepted. If we have need of your services, a message will be relayed to a sentry who will give you the instructions.'

'Agreed,' Bari bowed his head slightly.

'Agreed,' Legolas returned. 'We must leave now,' he turned. 'You may send a couple men with us to bring your ranger's body back, if you wish.'

'Yes, about the ranger.'

Legolas stopped, turning before he spoke firmly, 'He is to be punished for his crime.'

'I am truly sorry for his actions against you, but I assure you he has never committed such a crime before.'

'But he has now,' Legolas turned back to face the captain.

'There may be reason for his sudden actions. Not long ago he suffered severe injuries, the extent of which yet remain a mystery to me.'

'That is your excuse,' Legolas interrupted. 'An injury caused this.'

'I do not seek to excuse his actions. For those, he alone is responsible. I am asking you to reconsider your actions by offering an explanation for his actions,' Bari paused, waiting for the prince to answer. The elf merely nodded for him to continue.

'As I said I cannot guess at the extent of his injuries. I know there was some head injury that now causes his head to ache. From what medical knowledge I have, I know that head injuries can cause changes in personalities. Even if not, he still suffers from the emotional scars of whatever kind of attack he endured. He still have a long road to recovery.'

'What is it you are asking of me,' Legolas asked, suddenly wary of the man.

'I am asking you to release him to me. Give my healer and me the chance to heal his wounds, the physical and emotional ones. At the end of this winter, you may test him; see if he still poses a threat. If he does, then you may arrest him and do as you wish.'

'You pose an intriguing offer. One which I am not sure my father would approve of,' Legolas paused to think.

Bari hoped Legolas would agree to his proposition. He knew Strider under normal circumstances would not have attacked anyone unless he were provoked. Something was not normal about Strider's behavior. Up until he fell trying to get on his horse, he had seemed like the Strider he'd known. Quiet, attentive, and alert. But on the ride here, he noticed Strider seemed animated and when they arrived, he became nervous and agitated, like he was waiting for something to happen.

'Though rationale tells me this is folly,' Legolas began, 'I will release him into your charge. His attack inflicted more shock than pain,' Legolas' words drifted off as he seemed to consider something.

Breathing deeply, he returned his attention to the ranger captain, 'I hope that you are able to heal him of his injuries and ease his emotional trauma. I look forward to our meeting at the end of this winter. Until then,' he paused, 'I bid you farewell. Darkness is descending upon us,' Legolas spoke absently, his eyes gazing towards the sky.

Quickly, as if pulling himself from a daydream he turned his gaze to Bari again, his eyes full of newfound intensity. 'If we do not leave now, I fear we shall run into a trouble that dares not haunt the daylight hours.'

'I thank you for your generosity and once again ask that you extend our thanks to your king. I wish you a safe return home.'

Legolas nodded in receipt and turned to call for the elves holding Strider to bring him. The young ranger struggled against their grips as they brought him to their prince.

'I wish you,' Legolas paused to find an appropriate word, 'luck in dealing with him.'

'Thank you,' Bari returned, motioning for a few of his men to take Strider, still bound in the elven ropes and gagged as Legolas had ordered. Now in the hands of the rangers, he was calm, giving no fight. Rather, he threw them a puzzled looked, silently questioning Bari as to the reason for his release.

'Prince Legolas has kindly agreed to release you to us,' Bari spoke harshly to the young man. 'That is all you need to know. Remove him from my sight,' Bari commanded the men holding him. The transfer now complete, Legolas left, rounding up the elves as they prepared for their journey home. Bari too decided it was time for his men to leave. Turning to them, he called out for them to mount their horses.

'We will ride as far north as the day allows,' he told them.

'What are we to do with Strider,' Penrose asked.

'Get him on his horse, but keep a close eye on him.' As he spoke, he remembered there was someone else to deal with. 'Glynn,' he called. Hearing his name, the older man stopped adjusting the straps on his horse and walked over to talk to Bari.

'I am getting ready to leave,' he answered before Bari had a chance to speak.

'I can see that,' Bari paused, thinking of the afternoon's events. 'Strider's actions…'

'Yes,' Glynn interrupted, 'quite out of character for him. I have never seen him act so rashly and foolhardy.'

'My hope is that this was a random event.'

'And if not,' Glynn asked.

'Then I hope that he is still suffering the effects of his attack for then perhaps we can help him to recover fully.'

'Aye, that would be ideal. Until the effects are gone, namely the headaches, I am leaving a vial of the medicine with him to ease his more serious headaches.'

'The medicine,' Bari pondered aloud. 'Do you think it might be to blame.'

'No,' Glynn answered quickly. 'Its purpose is to dull pain, sedate a person to an extent. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must be off before it gets much later.'

'Yes,' Bari nodded. 'Safe journeys.'

'And to you as well,' Glynn reciprocated before returning his horse, mounting her, and taking off towards the south. Glynn's hasty departure due to the dwindling daylight, reminded Bari of their need to move farther north. Returning to his men, he found Strider safely mounted on Caladwen. On either side of him was a ranger, just in case Strider lashed out again.

'Do you wish us to remove the gag,' one of the rangers asked.

'No, leave it on.' Bari felt his anger rising again. Before it could rise anymore, however, he left, finding Penrose holding his horse at the front of the group.

'Everything is ready for our departure, sir,' he spoke, handing the reins of Bari's horse to him.

'Good. We shall set out immediately and ride until the sun has nearly set,' the ranger captain spoke as he mounted his horse and then urged him forward. Penrose followed suit, relaying the command to the men. Though Penrose rode beside Bari, they spoke little on the afternoon's journey. Bari was deep in thought, pondering the actions of the day and weighing his options. After a few hours when the sun was nearly set, he drew himself out of his thoughts long enough to divide the men into small scouting parties, sending each group in a separate direction to find an appropriate campsite.

As they scouted, he and Penrose remained behind with Strider and Bari allowed himself to sink back into this thoughts. When the men returned a short while later, one group reported having found an adequate site for the night. Following their lead, the rangers urged their horses to the location. When they arrived, much of Bari's thoughts were still jumbled, but he had come to one decision- he would have to speak to Strider tonight.

Some time after the sun had set and the daily chores were finished, Bari called Strider to him. He had had Strider unbound shortly after stopping so that he could help set up the site and complete his daily chores. Though he was much calmer, all kept a close watch on him for any sudden actions.

'Yes captain,' Strider spoke.

'How is your head?' Bari asked.

'Better. No pain.' There was a pause as both considered their next words. 'About my actions earlier,' Strider started.

'Yes, I have been meaning to speak to you concerning that,' Bari worked to keep his rising anger in check.

'I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I tried to hide the anger I felt, but before I knew it, it spread throughout me, forcing me to lash out.'

'Fortunately, Legolas was not injured, only stunned.'

'It is also fortunate that he realized the error he was making and released me,' Strider spoke confidently.

'Fortunate?' Bari questioned, now barely able to check his anger. 'It is not fortune that gained your release. Rather it was my pleading on your behalf; trying desperately to explain a reason for your rash actions.'

'And it is fortune that he listened to your reason,' Strider's confidence had not been dampened by Bari's words. 'That princeling is impetuous and callous; he has absolutely no concept of reason. I am quite fortunate that he did not order me killed on site.'

Strider's tirade left Bari speechless. He could not believe what he was hearing. How had Strider ever come to the conclusion that Legolas was unreasonable. What prompted him to such a negative view of the elf prince. Though his heart told him to lash out, to furiously defend Legolas' honor with a diatribe on par with Strider's, his mind told him otherwise. He needed to remain calm; something was not right and he needed lucidity to comprehend it.

'What reason do you have for such a statement?' Bari tried to gain a grasp on whatever was wrong.

'His lack of sense forced Glynn out into a storm that nearly killed him. And just last year, he tried to kill me,' Strider spoke emphatically.

'Tried to kill you,' Bari asked incredulously. 'I thought you could not remember having met him.'

'The instant he said he tried to help me, I remembered. I felt a heavy weight on my chest,' Strider put a hand to the area where he remembered the weight. 'I remember looking up in pain, trying to breathe as the weight forced air out of my lungs and there I saw a blonde elf, his foot on my chest and an evil grin on his face. I didn't recognize him at the time because I didn't know him, but now I know it was Legolas, the elf prince,' Strider spat the last words as though they were venom.

There was little Bari could think to say in response to Strider's story. He didn't know Legolas well and thus couldn't discount the story even though he believed the prince would never attempt to murder a man. As his mind processed the story, one thing struck him as odd.

'How did you know of Glynn's sickness that resulted from his foolhardy decision to ride through a storm on an unseasonably cold summer night?'

'He told me on our way here,' Strider explained. 'I asked him of the elves for I had never met with the Mirkwood elves ere today.'

'Glynn told you,' Bari quietly pondered aloud. 'Before today, did you ever have the same lack of control over your thoughts and emotions?' Strider thought for a moment.

'Occasionally since the accident I've had troubles,' Strider answered.

'Last night you told me you were not fully recovered from the injuries you sustained then,' Bari stated with a slight question in his voice.

'I did,' Strider answered. 'My father warned me I was not fully recovered; that there were some injuries that were beyond his abilities.'

'Some physical and I believe emotional.'

'That is likely. Why?'

'I believe that these lasting injuries may be the reason for your outbursts and lack of control. That is what I explained to the prince,' Bari continued, not allowing Strider to interject anymore words against the elf. 'I convinced him, as I myself am convinced, that these injuries can be healed at last and you will not suffer from such outbursts.'

'And if they are permanent?'

'Then you can be taught to control them.' When Strider didn't say anything, Bari related the terms of the deal. 'You have until the end of winter to overcome these troubles or you will be arrested and tried by King Thranduil.'

'I see,' Strider paused. 'Do I have a choice?'

'Not if you wish to remain a ranger.'

'And if I choose not to be a ranger any more?'

'I will have you bound and taken to Mirkwood to stand trial as per the agreement,' Bari stated matter-of-factly.

'It seems I have no choice,' Strider's voice betrayed his anger. 'Either I submit myself to your aid or a die. How do you think you can heal what my father cannot. He is a far more talented healer than Tudor.'

'I don't know. But I hope you decide to allow us to help.'

'Seeing as I do not wish to die, I am left with no option, but to accept. What do I do now, master healer,' Strider mocked. It took all of Bari's efforts to quell his rising anger.

'First you rest. For your actions earlier and your lack of respect tonight, you shall rise an hour early in the morning to care for the horses and prepare the morning meal. Good night,' he finished harshly. As Strider left, Bari considered the conversation. He had a lot of work ahead of him, dealing with the obstinate ranger, but he refused to believe the injuries could not be dealt with in some way that would relieve him of the lack of control.


	7. Tempest of the Mind

Here's the full chapter, finally. I've been sitting on it for a bit now, trying to get it just right and I don't think I've quite succeeded. I'm working on the next chapter right now, it should be ready in a couple weeks. Please read, review, and relax. Oh and I promise the next chapter will have more excitement and intrigue.

Oh, and as usual I don't own LOTR (drat!). I tried to catch everything, but as I'm only human I know some spelling and grammar goofs slipped my eyes, so please kindly point them out and I'll fix them.

* * *

Tempest of the Mind

The man lunged after the elf, determined to take his revenge. As the stronger of the two, the elf easily controlled the fight, grabbing hold of the man's upper arms and flinging him to the side as a child might toss an unwanted toy.

Though winded and slightly dazed, Aragorn pushed himself off the ground with surprising ease. Lunging at the elf, he quickly realized, would only do him more harm. In hand-to-hand combat, he clearly was not the stronger. He needed a weapon, he grumbled to himself. Glancing about the cave, he found little of use. There were rocks, but none large enough to do the damage he desired. In this distracted moment, he failed to notice the elf gaining on him. As the man turned, Legolas thrust a fist into his stomach. Aragorn doubled over, gasping in pain and giving the elf the chance to bring his fist up, hitting Aragorn square in the face.

In an instant, Aragorn found himself on the hard, cold ground again. Cursing the elf, he wished for a knife that he might bury it in that elfling's heart. Once more, Aragorn found himself easily rising to his feet, but this time, he grabbed hold of a rock he'd deemed ineffective just seconds ago. Before the elf could make another move, Aragorn lunged, the hand holding the rock raised, ready to strike his opponent hard. A second later, his fist hit a clothed mass and he felt a warm wetness splatter onto his outstretched fist. The prince gave a small cry of shock before he fell lifelessly to the ground, a short metal hilt sticking out of his chest.

Aragorn awoke with a gasp, not from shock over having killed, but over the suddenness of it. One minute, he remembered, his hand held a small rock that he hoped would do some small measure of damage and the next it wielded a sharp knife. If only it were that simple, he thought. Cursing under his breath, he chided himself for not taking care of the elf when they first met, when he had the chance. Why the rest had failed to see the error in Bari's decision, he could not understand. Yestin would have never made such a decision. These were men older than him; they were supposed to have more knowledge of these things; of the world. Clearly, this was not true. Sighing slightly, he resigned himself to having to help them see their wrongs. He would have to help Bari and the rest see their mistake. First, however, he would need to regain their trust; convince them that his humors were not out of balance as Bari and Tudor had explained to him last night.

Aragorn still found himself aghast at the berating Bari gave him last night. But considering the new leader's misconception concerning elves, he could understand, though it still did not make him happy. Not only were his humours to be restored to balance, but Bari decided it prudent to punish him by assigning him the tasks of an errand boy. As he silently fumed, Aragorn had heard little of Bari's reasoning; he said something about teaching him respect and a little humility. Aragorn assumed he thought these would be good for his character. Feeding horses, fixing meals and cleaning camp were not the tasks of a ranger. It was humiliation. All would remember what he did when they saw him performing such duties.

With a grumble and a curse, he forced himself off his bedroll. Impulse told him to disobey, but logic reasoned cooperation might be best for the moment. Perhaps if he cooperated, he would get his flask of medicine back. That had been the final humiliation of the night, when Bari took the flask from him and before he was allowed another dose. To his dismay, one dose was no longer staving off the headache as he found himself taking it twice a day just to be able to function. Missing that dose last night was already beginning to have an effect for as he stood, he felt light and unsteady. The forest turned for a few seconds before righting itself and coming back into focus. The lightheadedness dissipated only to be replaced by a sudden pounding behind his left eye. A headache was developing and that only served to make him angrier about the events of last night. The current situation obviously was not working out and there was no way it was going to, that much Aragorn saw easily. The hard part would be righting the wrongs.

The forest back to its normal position in his eyesight, he made his way to check the wood collection for the fire. To his dismay, there was far less than would be needed to start an adequate fire for the morning meal. Grumbling about the laziness of his fellow rangers, he set off into the forest to collect the needed wood. Though the headache had not grown much, the empty feeling it gave his head left him slightly off balance each time he bent to pick up a fallen branch of wood. He could not wait until after he finished his duties to seek Tudor out for the medicine. At the same time, he knew he had to get it back. They did not know about his new dosage and he did not want them to know. He knew it would only cause him further troubles. No, it could not stay with Tudor. But he would have to wait to get it, when he knew of its location. Perhaps after nightfall, when all were asleep.

Cursing under his breath as a piece of wood dropped from the bundle he now had, he bent to pick it up. As he righted himself, the trees shifted once again and he felt his head sway and his stomach churn. To make matters worse, once these had normalized, another ache began behind his other eye. Grimacing at the new pain, he caught himself from dropping the wood and forced himself to walk back to camp.

He would get Tudor to give him the medicine this morning. He'd tell him it was time for the next dose. Tudor was a boy, not even of age yet. He'd lived but sixteen winters. The child would be none the wiser. Then he could get rid of his aching head and find out the location of the bottle. Yes, he grinned, that would work. Not only would he get what he wanted, but they would think he was cooperating.

Coming into the camp, he made his way to the fire pit, laying down the wood and setting about making a fire to cook the porridge. By now the sun sat on the horizon, shining its bright light into the forest. The trees, for their part, took turns absorbing the warm light, allowing it to peak through in areas, but blocking it in other areas. This was Aragorn's favorite part of the day. The forest about him took on an ethereal feel, making him feel as though he stood in the midst of one of the famed gardens of Imladris, raised and tended to as only elves could. As a child, he enjoyed running through these gardens, hiding in the leaves of the weeping willows from his brothers. As he grew, he found he, like the elves, enjoyed them for the natural beauty they had and took to spending hours of time basking in nature in them.

Now, he cursed, he was not permitted to spend such time in the first rays of sunlight. Instead, he had to prepare the morning meal. The fire now hot enough, he set a large heavy pot filled little over half way with water into the hook above and left the pot to boil. If he remembered correctly, he had about enough time to clean up his bed roll and arouse the men before the water would reach a boil. Though he brooded, he gave little thought to anything as he completed these tasks. He didn't realize this, however, until he returned to the fire, adding in the correct about of grains to make the porridge. Coaxing the fire further from the pot, he covered the pot and allowed it to simmer.

Everyone was slowly rising from their bed rolls. With no great need to move from this site, there was no urgency in rising. All that would need done today, was a simple hunt so that they might have food and not have to take from their stores until necessary. It would also allow them to build their stores as they would dry out some of the meat for their packs, a task which was left to Aragorn. As a true errand boy, he would not be allowed on the hunt, but instead would be left behind to prepare to take care of the meat. He was a good hunter, and Bari knew that; in fact he supposed that he was better than most of the men. He'd seen him in action several times last year. If they'd let him go, he'd have them the best meat in less time than it would take them to string their bows. But far be it for him to suggest to Bari the reasoning of it, the new leader likely wouldn't comprehend the logic of it all.

As he rose from stirring the pot of porridge, he felt his head explode. It seemed as everything had rushed out of his head, leaving him off balance. Simultaneously, his senses faded, his vision narrowing to a small point, while sounds faded far in the distance. As his body evened itself out, restoring both senses and equilibrium, the pressure in his head increased tenfold. It took a great amount of effort, but he managed to keep his response to a low moan, low enough he doubted anyone had heard. He didn't want to let them know. He needed to convince them he was ok. Still something had to be done about the headache and he couldn't wait.

His balance now regained and his mind settled, he made his way to the other end of camp. When he arrived, he saw Tudor had woken and was cleaning up as he waited for the porridge.

"Morning," Tudor said softly.

"Morning," Strider answered, his voice a bit gruff.

"How're you doing this morning?"

"That's actually what I've come to speak with you about. More than a day's past since my last dose. I've tried to make do without it, but the ache has grown to where I can no longer bear it."

"Are you sure it has been more than a day?"

"Aye, it has, otherwise I would not ask. Do you really believe I want to take this? I hate that I am forced to take it. I despise it, but nothing else has eased the ache like this."

"Are you sure the ache comes daily?"

"Now it does," Strider answered. He waited as Tudor thought. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Tudor reaching into a nearby bag, removing from it a familiar little vial. Strider knelt down, allowing the young healer to give him the dose. As he swallowed the few drops of liquid, he could feel a wave of coolness spreading from his heart to the rest of his body. Once again, he sighed, but held it half way, feeling Tudor's watchful eyes on him.

"Thank you," he said, rising slowly to his feet. "The ache should fade soon."

"If it doesn't, come back. If not, return when you have finished your duties and we will discuss your treatment to restore your humors."

Aragorn nodded in understanding before heading back to the center of the camp to check the porridge. As he walked away, his mouth turned up a bit in a smile. Tonight he would reclaim his control and prove himself right.

* * *

So, what did you think?


	8. The Man in the Center

Wow, how long has it been. Good news though, for anyone still reading, I have more time to work on this and the motivation now. Don't quite know where it came from, but I'm happy. This chapter will probably anger people or deeply confuse them, but I do have everything planned. Things may not make much sense now, but please understand that this is only about halfway through the story; things are going on that have not yet been fully explained. The next chapter is written and the chapter after that is about a quarter of the way done, so I've got things going now. Sorry for the delay and the shortness of this chapter. A new one will be out soon. Please forgive any mistakes, I am only human. Thanks for reading. Please relax and review.

Oh and I don't own anything except for this idea.

* * *

The Man in the Center

-a few weeks later-

As the sun rose, it carefully peaked its rays through the heavy branches of the forest. Still, Aragorn found it aggravating, the dull light piercing his forehead and eyes, going straight to the aching part of his head. With a groan, he tried to roll over, but a combination of pain and nausea stopped him before he was more than an inch off the hard cold ground. He couldn't recall how long he'd been sick like this. He knew he had been fine for a while. But then something happened. He'd lost something or broken it. He couldn't remember, but it was gone. Even after that he'd felt fine, but slowly he felt worse. Aches began to appear and tremors. Not even the darkest, coolest shade could ease the heat he felt. Then nausea had set in, forcing him to halt his trek. People came to see him, but they didn't help. Ada, Ellandan, Arwen. Not even she, his love, helped. Bari, Tudor, Emlyn, Yestin. They all came but only to mock him.

He'd left somewhere a while ago, though it'd appeared as a dream. He had walked around like a fox. It was dark, but he had a hunger, a thirst for something. He'd been a hunter for too long; he'd become prey. To survive he had to succeed. Trees had blurred in his eyes. He struggled to catch his prey. His hands hand felt webbed and heavy, but at last he'd caught it. The joy of victory threatened to flood his senses, but it was quelled by the fear of capture. He'd run, for how long, he didn't know. Time had all become one now.

A distance away, he heard a noise. A rustling of leaves, it sounded like. Heavy breathing and then something fell, swiftly but expertly in control. It was coming closer, but he couldn't get away. He moaned as he tried to move yet again, and once more failed.

It spoke a name, which he thought was his, but fever clouded his mind with a thick fog. He tried to open his eyes, but they felt like the heavy draperies in Ada's study. There were hands on him, thick but not rough. Like a healer's hands. One was behind his neck, slick from a feverish sweat. He sighed at the brief coolness. Just a quickly as the relief came, he was suffocated again by the unbearable fever. He could not tell how long had passed, but he no longer felt a dampness beneath him. After an interminable amount of time, he heard a steady chant. He allowed himself to drift towards the voice as he found no other anchor from his senses in the darkness. The words were familiar, yet meaningless to him. As quickly as the voice came, it disappeared.

When at last his senses returned, they began slowly. First, he heard a cry, much shouting, and a cool breeze. It eased the scorch of the heat. Sight was the last to return and came suddenly, revealing a terrible scene of warfare and battle. Mingled together were men, elves and orcs. Though he was close to their dueling, they paid him no heed.

Fiercely swung around and coated in thick sheens of blood, their swords barely flashed in the sunlight. Continually, numerous swords struck home in the body of an opponent, but it did little to end the battle, for more appeared where only one had fallen. Man and elf alike were surrounded, fighting a battle for their lives. Amidst the fighting, Aragorn found himself watching one man in particular. He looked much like them, dark brown hairs, stringy with sweat. His face bore a few cuts, but none too serious. His clothes seemed normal as well, a thick brown leather vest over a dirty white tunic leaving Aragorn to wonder why he found this man so interesting.

"Do you know this man," an earthy voice asked him. He searched for the owner of the voice and found, next to him, a lady. She looked old, but at the same time young.

"No," he answered. "He reminds me of a man, but I don't know this man."

"He is a powerful man," the ageless lady answered. "He has a family. A wife and a son. The son is small, but he too has power," she continued, in the same tone. "Do you know him now?"

"No. He is only a person, a nameless man. Is he a king?"

"Not yet and he will never become one. But it has been said that his son will be. Do you know him now?"

"No," Aragorn answered, growing frustrated at the insistent question. "Tell me who this man is!"

The lady paused for a few minutes. Aragorn's attention returned to the battle scene as he strained his eyes to see the man she told him of. Though he was completely surrounded, he continued to fight, fending off each attack with equal success. Elves fought nearby. All bore fierce looks of determination. Victory was within their grasps, despite the number of advancing enemy troops. Suddenly and with such quickness that it stole Aragorn's breath for a second, the man fell. Two elves exchanged a brief glance, though Aragorn could not read their identical expressions. Just a quickly as the man fell, did the tide of the battle tilt. Still the combatants hurled bloody swords at one another, their bodies straining under the heat of the high sun. How long passed Aragorn could not be sure, but the outcome was undoubted. A near massacre by the orcs. Despite their victory, the orcs ran away quickly as they knew the battleground contained no treasures of value. The losing survivors, rose from amongst their fallen comrades, crying aloud as they finally saw the great man in the center had fallen. The two elves, who had exchanged a battle field glance, stood away from the carnage, but Aragorn could still hear them.

"It is done," one of them said.

"At last," the other sighed.

"Go," the ethereal voice interrupted him. "Glance upon the great man for whom these men weep. Perhaps then you shall know him."

With some hesitation, Aragorn began to move, carefully stepping through the broken and bloodied bodies. A few, still bearing life, called for help, though he doubted that they called to him. Men still knelt by the one's side. Taking a step further, Aragorn saw the wound. A knife had been plunged deeply into his chest. Death was nearly instantaneous. Aragorn glanced up at the face of the man, finding, a face strikingly similar to his own. He bore the same sharp jaw line and bold nose. The face was older, creased with age and worry, but appeared much like his own.

"Arathorn…" someone muttered. Aragorn didn't hear the rest, as he instantly recognized the name. This man was his father. He'd seen his death, but wondered why. Elrond told Aragorn his father had died during an orc attack, shot by an arrow in the eye. But this was a knife wound, sustained in the heat of battle. Why would Elrond lie to him? He looked back to Arathorn's chest. The surrounding cloth and skin were not torn as it would be from an orc blade. Rather, it was a clean wound from a smooth blade, like that an elf bore. Thinking, he glanced at the two elves. They were taking in the sight while talking. About what he could not be sure, but he was sure they bore a satisfied look. Had they, he wondered as they cleaned their blades. In an instant, it became clear to him. They'd killed Arathorn. There was no other explanation. But something else struck him. These elves were identical, not unheard of among elves, but still not entirely common. He knew of only one set that worked with men: Elrond's sons. Anger rushed through his veins as he connected the final piece of the mystery. Elladan and Elrohir had murdered his father, but still he wondered why. Turning to the lady behind him, he silently asked her for an answer. She seemed to know everything. For a moment, she offered no answer.

"This you know," she answered cryptically.


	9. Euphoria and Explanations

Wow, I can't believe I actually got another chapter done so quickly. Spring break is awesome. Anyway, thanks to those who read the last chapter. I had to make a small correction to the ending; I forgot to delete something when I posted it, so if this seems confusing at first, just read the last little bit of the previous chapter. The next chapter should be up this weekend; it's already written and just has to be typed up and proofread. So, usual disclaimers apply; I don't own LOTR, but I do own the plot of this story and Glynn. While I did proofread this chapter, it is inevitable that I missed something, so please forgive my mistakes. Please read, relax, and enjoy. Oh and a review would be wonderful as well, if you wish.

* * *

Euphoria and Explanations

Her words repeated in his head. This you know. For a moment, he doubted himself. Maybe this was a false dream. Something his mind had conjured up. But such dreams had never lied to him before. They'd led him on the correct path; shown him the error of his ways. And then he came to understand. In that second, the grim truth crushed him, crashing in unwelcomed on fond childhood memories and his latest journey home to see Elrond. At last, he knew the truth. He turned to ask another question, but the lady was gone. Quickly he looked towards the sons of Elrond, only to find them gone as well. No one was left. No sooner had he realized this, than the earth began to fade, growing darker in frighteningly quick increments. Thinking his vision to be at fault, he rubbed his eyes, but they were fine. Within seconds, all had faded. The world faded from his other senses too. Last to be sensed was the sweet sound of a chirping bird.

It seemed as quickly as the void came it was beginning to fade. But the senses were different. He knew he was lying on something hard, yet slightly soft. A blanket laid over him and he wanted it off, for he felt hot and sticky. On either side of him, he felt temperature extremes: hot and cold. He was already hot, so he moved towards the cold, only to find his body lethargic and weak. The smell of incense hit him, smelling strangely sweet and spicy. Someone was speaking, no, chanting nearby. It was a deep voice, definitely a man and it sounded familiar. He paused, panic and apprehension welling up inside of him at who he feared the owner of the voice was.

Although he was sure his movements and rise to semi-consciousness were enough to draw attention, the man continued his chanting. He tried to discern the words, but the sounds jumbled in his still foggy mind. Though he knew there were individual words, he could detect no such breaks. Obviously, he thought, he did not know the language. While he desired to know the chanter, he found himself quite content to lie listening. Something about the chant soothed him. He allowed the words to flow over him, caressing and washing his achy, sticky, lethargic body. They soaked his skin, penetrating the flesh, working their way into his blood. As the infused blood coursed through his body, he found his strength returning. How long this continued for, he did not know, nor did he care. He was too enraptured by the feel of strength entering his body. Only when the chanting ended, did his euphoria break.

"Strider," the chanter called to him, beckoning him to open his eyes. But Aragorn didn't want to. He wanted the chanting to continue. Now that it was over, he felt empty.

"It will return," the chanter replied to his thoughts. "Trust me." Aragorn found himself unable to place the owner of the voice, though he felt that he knew him. At last, Aragorn forced himself to open his eyes. He expected his vision to be blurry, but it was oddly clear. Above him was wood and to the side, stone.

"All has been healed," the chanter said. Aragorn turned quickly to face the man. Surprise came over him as he realized who the man was.

"Glynn?" he asked, puzzled. The healer didn't look much different than he had a month ago. He was dressed quite simply though, much more than the last time they had met. He wore a white tunic, which bore dirt and stains from much use. His brown pants too bore a look of use. Strider guessed that he had worn those clothes for days. He wondered briefly if Glynn had spent all of that time beside him. But where was here? And how did he get here? The last thing he remembered before the battle in the plains was lying on a cold, wet ground. He was feeling sick and feverish. He remembered hoping that he would get better, but having no expectations of doing so.

"Aye." Glynn nodded.

"How… where," Aragorn stammered as he tried to formulate his thoughts into questions.

"Later," Glynn answered. "First you need to eat."

"No," Aragorn said forcefully. The energy he'd felt coursing through his veins while he was semi-conscious was surging again, giving him the energy to sit up, but Glynn forced him back down.

"It's been several days since you've eaten. Despite what you're feeling now, your body will soon require food." Aragorn paused. Part of him could understand the logic of what Glynn said, but part of him didn't care. He'd been unconscious for too long and wanted to know what had happened. He didn't care about the requirements of his body. There would be time for that later. As he was thinking this, it seemed that Glynn could read his thoughts and the healer's face became even more determined.

"Fine," Aragorn spat, realizing that he would get nowhere with Glynn. "Explain as I eat," he demanded.

Glynn raised his hand, motioning to someone who stood at a door to the far left of the bed. A dirty, young woman entered, carrying a tray of food and a mug of liquid. She set the tray on the table without a word. Aragorn noticed her clothes were tattered and hung off her thing frame. Her hair had been choppily cut and barely reached past her ears. As she turned the corner, her brown hair caught a breeze of air. In that brief second, though he could not be sure, Aragorn thought he noticed a sharp point to her ear. Once she left, Glynn helped him to sit, resting his back on a pillow that feebly blocked the cold of the stonewall from seeping through. Once he was settled, Glynn retrieved the tray and set it down on Aragorn's lap. It was not the food he was accustomed to during his travels. There was a thick soup, a chunk of meat almost the size of his fist and an even larger piece of dense bread. It was a hearty meal and he wasted no time eating. As he tore off a piece of bread, dipping it into the soup, he reminded Glynn of the promise he'd made.

"Yes, of course." Glynn nodded. "About a week ago, I found you, feverish and delirious in the woods. The cause of your illness I am still questioning, though I have my suspicions. I carried you upon my horse here."

"Where is here?" Aragorn asked, before eating another soup soaked piece of bread. He was surprised to find how hungry he really was. How long had it been since he'd last eaten?

"My current residence. After I left the rangers that day, I wandered for a while."

"That day always has puzzled me. Why did you leave?"

"The rangers weren't…" Glynn hesitated, "what I thought they'd be. I'm a peaceful man Strider. They engage in far too much fighting, almost seeking it out at times. I couldn't handle it anymore. I was in a little village, enjoying a mug of ale at the local tavern, when he sat down next to me. He was so quiet and soft-spoken that it startled me, but I warmed up to him quickly. We talked for hours and never did I fell more at peace. When he found I was skilled in medicine, he asked if I would join him at his castle. He required some help with potions. Here I've been helping him mix herbs to create better healing potions. When you're well enough, I'd like to show them to you."

"He is the master of this castle?" Aragorn asked.

"Aye and he graciously allowed me to bring you here."

"What of my head aching?"

"You'd stopped taking the potion."

"I ran out. I was looking for you. The headaches had returned with an intensity greater than before. I started feeling ill and feverish."

"I suspected that might be the reason for your sickness, but I could not be sure. Good thing that I found you. You'd have never found me in your condition. Do not worry about the ache, it is again held back by a potion. Though I am working on one that I hope will permanently heal the ache."

"My father said he couldn't do that. He said it was impossible; that he'd tried everything he knew."

"Your father doesn't have the proper herbs or knowledge then," Glynn answered simply.

"To be free of aches and potions," Aragorn sighed, leaning away from the now empty tray. He'd been more hungry than he realized and had eaten very quickly. "That would be nice."

"I still have work to do, but I believe I am close to something that will restore your balance."

"And what now?" Aragorn asked.

"Now you must rest," Glynn paused, but continued quickly as he noticed Aragorn beginning to protest. "Although you are doing remarkably better than I anticipated, you are still recovering. Perhaps in a day or two, you will be rested enough for a short journey around the castle. The views really are fantastic. So, for now, rest. There is still much that needs to be done and you'll need your strength for it."


	10. The Man with the Chiseled Face

Hope you guys enjoy the next chapter. Please read, relax, and enjoy. Oh, and I don't own LOTR.

* * *

The Man with the Chiseled Face

As Glynn had promised, he took Aragorn out for a tour of the castle a couple of days after he awoke. Glynn was surprised by his swift recovery. If he were being honest to himself, Aragorn was surprised as well, be he really didn't mind. The feeling of strength was welcome. He felt as though he could do anything.

"This is my workroom. My study." Glynn led Aragorn into a room. Surprisingly, the room was brightly lit, thanks to a window on the far side of the room. The room contained a couple of long wooden tables, which were littered with paper, tools, and herbs. Aragorn followed Glynn into the room, gazing about it.

"This is where you do your work?" he asked.

"Aye, it is. I spend much of my time here working on potions to restore the balance of the humors better. My latest, as you know, is the one to restore your balance permanently."

"Yes, of course," Aragorn nodded. "Is it complete?"

"That is actually the reason I brought you here today. I believe I have finished it, but I am not sure how well it will work."

"Will it harm me?"

"It may move something else out of balance. I assure you though I have researched it thoroughly, testing what I could."

"And it is a permanent restoration?"

"Aye." Aragorn paused for a moment, thinking. If he took the potion, there was a chance it would make his head ache worse or cause another humor to become out of balance, causing problems in some other way. On the other hand, he longed to be free of the daily potions. He also trusted Glynn. His old friend was a skilled healer and well versed in herbs. He would never concoct a potion that would cause him harm.

"When may I take it?" he asked at last. Glynn smiled for a brief second.

"Well, in truth, I was hoping you'd ask that question. I'm afraid the healer in me is far too curious to see if it works. You may try it right away, if you wish." Aragorn returned the smile, taking the vial Glynn held out to him. In one swift, familiar motion Aragorn downed the thin, pale yellow liquid.

"I do not know how long it will take to restore the balances, but I hope soon. Also, so we know if it is working, you'll no longer be taking the daily potion." Aragorn started slightly at that. He had become so accustomed to taking it. It always made him feel so good. He wasn't sure he wanted to give it up. Was he addicted? He thought about it for second, but quickly banished the idea. It was a medicine; a potion that happened to temporarily restore his equilibrium. The feeling, that he liked, was the euphoria of being pain free again and nothing else.

"Of course," he said.

"Now, if you would like, I'll continue the rest of the tour." Aragorn nodded in reply. He followed Glynn out of the study, continuing down the dark, blank hallway. As they walked the hallways, Aragorn began to feel the effects of the potion. A wave of light-headedness hit him first and he tried to remain standing. Fortunately, he succeeded. He was trying to rid of himself of the out-of-body feeling when he noticed they had turned onto a different hallway. This one was lighter and decorated with tapestries and weaponry. Just as he began to come back to himself, he was hit by a wave of coldness, making Aragorn wish he'd brought something heavier to wear. To try to warm-up, he walked at a quicker pace, hoping that would drive away the chill.

"Where are we going?" Aragorn asked, hoping to distract himself from the sudden feeling of sickness.

"To see the master," Glynn answered. Aragorn paused his thoughts for a second. He wasn't sure he was ready to meet the master. In the past few days, Glynn had spoken frequently of him, each time with an enormous degree of reverence. Whoever this man was, he was to be highly respected. Aragorn wondered if he could show the reverence he should. Especially now, when the potion seemed to be taking effect. But, before he realized it, Glynn was opening a door. The large wooden door was etched with strange markings that Aragorn hadn't seen before. From the effort Glynn put in to pushing he door open, he could tell that it must have been very heavy.

Aragorn followed Glynn inside the room. It was a large room, with stone stretching some fifteen or more yards up to the ceiling. The only natural light came in varying colors though colored glass windows. Aragorn had seen them before, but only in the homes of elves who designed intricate pictures out of them. The walls were mostly bare, save for a few tapestries. One was quite long and intricate. He would have to look closer to be sure, but he thought it depicted a battle. The far wall was lined with books. Many of them were old and tattered. Both sides of the walls were lined with tables, as full of crinkled papers and bottles of herbs and potions as Glynn's tables were.

But none of this was as intriguing as what the center table held. Aragorn wasn't sure what was on the circular wooden table, but it looked to be made of stone, perhaps marble as it shone a little in the dim colored light. It was a dark black though. There was no discernable single image carved out of the stone. With one glance, what looked like an arm appeared, but never formed into a full image; rather it stayed there, imprinting on the person, as the mind attempted to construct another image out of the lump. The process occurred repeatedly in the mind of the viewer, but to no avail for no image could ever be formed from the stone.

"He will be arriving shortly. A few matters came up that required him," Glynn spoke from beside Aragorn.

"This is an impressive room," Aragorn commented absently.

"Aye, it is," Glynn agreed. "This is his work room. Like me, he works with potions, though his art is far more skilled than mine."

"If he was so skilled, why did he require your help?" Aragorn asked.

"His skill may be great, but he is not nearly as knowledgeable in healing as am I. Nor does it help much when the healer becomes ill himself." Glynn allowed a small smile before continuing. "Shortly before I met him, he had become seriously ill. Though he was able to mend himself, it was quite difficult. After that he set out to find a healer more skilled in the healing arts than he." Just as Glynn completed his explanation, a door, which Aragorn had not seen during his survey of the room, opened next to the bookcases and a thin man stepped out. He was a little shorter than the average man, but not nearly the height of a dwarf. Like Glynn, he wore simple clothes: a dirty white tunic and old brown pants. His dark brown hair was cut long and hung straight down to his shoulders. Beneath his eyes were dark circles. He walked silently and confidently over to meet them. His chiseled face held a look of purpose.

"Greetings, master," Glynn spoke, bowing ever so slightly. The man responded with a nod of his head before stopping in front of them.

"Is this the young man you spoke of?" he asked, looking at Aragorn. His gaze wasn't intimidating, rather enrapturing. Aragorn found himself intrigued by the man's eyes for they were green like grass after a spring day's rain. There was not a hint of imperfection marring his face, save for the dark circles. Not even his teeth held a fault; they were straight and white as pearls.

"Yes, it is. The potion you recommended helped tremendously in his healing. Thank you," Glynn responded, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

"Well, I am glad," the man looked at Glynn briefly, before turning his attention back to Aragorn. "And your name is?"

"Strider," Aragorn spoke in a glazed-over voice.

"So this is the Strider, of whom I have heard so much of." The man smiled, gesturing widely with his hands.

"Pardon?" Aragorn asked surprised.

"Glynn has told me much of you. Of your exploits during your time with the rangers."

"Oh?" Aragorn turned to Glynn with a look of shock. Glynn responded with an innocent look and a shrug of his shoulders.

"Now that you are healed, I assume that you'd like to return to them, yes?" the master questioned.

"Actually," Aragorn hesitated for a second. "I doubt very much I would be welcomed back with open arms. And I believe that I do not wish to return. They've changed much since I left. Their new captain is not the skilled leader his predecessor was," Aragorn responded vaguely.

"What do you plan to do then?" Glynn asked.

"I've not thought that far yet," Aragorn paused. When he resumed, his voice was contemplative and serious. "While I was ill, I had a strange dream; one which I'd like to sort out."

"Perhaps I can help you with that," the master offered.

"How?"

"I have some skill at decoding dreams. I can help you decipher the meaning of it."

"It didn't feel so much like a dream as a vision I've had before, though they've never shown me such things before," the younger man explained.

"What was so different?" the man asked, moving a little closer.

"It showed my past. An event that I had not even witnessed, but which had been explained to me numerous times. But it was not as I was told. Things were different and I do not know why."

"Hmm," the master thought. "This will be a little more difficult than dream deducing. Delving into one's past requires more work. Tell me, how much do you desire to understand your true history?"

"Very much so," Aragorn answered enthusiastically. "I feel as though I've been lied to and I want to know why. I would do anything to understand."

"Good." The master turned slightly and clapped his hands together in a way that startled Aragorn, setting his nerves off slightly, but not his determination to discover the truth. "Then I have a proposition to make. I have a task that too requires much power. Years ago, I lost my family and have been working since then to locate them. Unfortunately, the power I need to do this is quite enormous."

"Power?" Aragorn asked, not understanding.

"Yes."

"What does this have to do with me?"

"Well," the master turned to face Aragorn, locking his eyes directly on Aragorn's. "I believe you have something that could give me the power to not only locate my family, but also discern the truth of your past."

"Something I have?" Aragorn asked, finding himself a little uncomfortable at the intense gaze of the master, but at the same time unable and unwilling to break his gazing of the master's beautiful face. "I don't have anything of importance such as that."

"I believe you do," he responded, with an even firmer gaze, "Aragorn." Aragorn's mind reeled at the use of his true name, but his mouth did nothing. "You carry on you the weapon of your ancestor: the Shards of Narsil."

"Aye," Aragorn answered unwillingly.

"With the power it holds, I can finally find my family. And for you, not only can I discern your past, but I can restore it for you. And it will be even more powerful than it ever was."

"How?" Aragorn asked, finally regaining some control.

"I have some skills," he answered mysteriously.

"Glynn," Aragorn turned to his healer friend. "Did you know of this?"

"No, I…," Glynn hesitated, shock evident in his voice. "I am as much surprised as you. Is it true?" he asked Aragorn, but the younger man gave no response.

"He won't tell you, but yes it is," the master answered for Aragorn. "Check the historical records Glynn if you do not believe me," the master spoke, not removing his eyes from Aragorn's face. Aragorn took this brief time to contemplate his options. He had no place to go. He couldn't return to Rivendell until he knew the truth. Glynn trusted this man without question, this man who somehow knew who he truly was and knew that he carried Narsil. He was never to give the ancient blade up. Carrying her was the reminder of his purpose. It told him of the duty he was bound to by fate. But it would be useful to have a completed sword and one that wielded some powers. That, no doubt, would be useful someday, regardless of what powers she held. The man only wanted to find his family. There was hardly anything devious in that. In a way, they were searching for the same thing, only Aragorn wanted to know if the family who raised him was really his family or if their intent was far more devious.

"What is your decision?" the master interrupted his thoughts, but it didn't matter. Aragorn had already made up his mind. Rather than speaking, he reached to unclip the belt that held Narsil to his waist. As it came unclasped, he carefully collected the belt into a bundle and handed it over to the master.

"Thank you," the man said, smiling widely as he took the bundle from Aragorn.

* * *

So what'd you think? Please let me know.


	11. Soothsaying

Sorry about the lateness of this chapter. I'm onto my third straight week of observations (if you're in education you'll understand what I'm talking about) and it's finally caught up with me. If this chapter isn't up to my normal par, please excuse me, I fighting a cold right now. Anyway, have a good week or spring break. Par usual, I don't own LOTR. Please, read, relax, and review.

* * *

Soothsaying

"Shall we begin?" the man said rhetorically, turning away from Aragorn and Glynn. He moved to set Narsil on the circular table that had drawn Aragorn's attention earlier. As he moved some books around and flipped through papers, Aragorn and Glynn approached the table. Aragorn spoke first.

"Where will we start?"

"The reconstruction will take some time, so we shall begin there. Then you can tell me about your dream. By then the sword will be complete and its powers ready for use," the master responded calmly, before returning to rifling through the papers. After much searching, he finally stopped, setting within eyes' glance a couple of papers, crinkled and colored with age. Though the writing on them was crisp and clear, Aragorn could make no sense of the words. Instead, he chose to turn his focus to Narsil, which the master was lying out in a wide space he'd cleared. The hilt and about eight inches of the ancient blade remained whole, but the remaining length was shattered into varying chunks. Still piecing them back together was a relatively easy task. Narsil had been well taken care of as evidenced by the shine of its shards. It'd been kept in the protective care of each of his ancestors, carried by them as a reminder of a single event. When Arathorn II died, it'd been placed in Lord Elrond's care until Aragorn was old enough to be told.

Aragorn had grown up hearing the tale of Narsil and gazing at it in wonder. He'd tried to play with it on several occasions and each time he'd been caught. Elrond had always punished him with kitchen duty and more history lessons. Aragorn had always been amazed that even after all of these years, the blade remained deadly sharp. Unfortunately, he'd also experienced its sharpness. One day, when he was about eleven, he'd been pretending to fight off a herd of orcs, when he heard some leaves crunching. Growing up with elves had trained his ears to pick up the slightest noise. While he wasn't as good as an elf, he was certainly better than a human. In his haste to return the base of the sword to its resting place, he knocked a couple of the shards off. During that point in his childhood, no amount of growing up with elves could have helped his clumsiness. The sharp shards of metal had pierced his right shoe and lodged themselves deep into his foot. Removing the shards was painful because Elrond feared the damage done by removing them, not to mention they'd pierced his shoes. Finally, Elrond had carefully removed them, pulled the now ruined leather off his feet and stitched up the wounds. That one time Elrond had let him off without a punishment, with the explanation, he'd already been punished.

Aragorn was pulled out of his thoughts by a rise in the voice of the master, who was chanting the strange words Aragorn had seen on the papers. Glynn had moved to the opposite side of the table, standing on the left side of the master. Still both men had their eyes trained on the sword, in front of which the master stood. At first, the chanting seemed to have no affect, but after a few minutes, Aragorn felt the air change. It felt cooler and dry. The sword itself began to glow. It started on the edge of each piece. As the chanting increased in intensity, so did the glow. It began glowing brighter and moving quickly to the inside of each piece. Aragorn thought he heard a second chanter as he watched the glow engulf the sword, but he discounted it as a possible echo in the ballroom. He never gave it another thought as the shards began to move. Slowly they came together, points filling divots. By this point, the chanting had reached a peak. Then, all of a sudden, it stopped and the room was filled with a strange silence.

"It is done," the master proclaimed. Aragorn looked at the blade again. It wasn't quite as he thought it would be. The sword was now riddled with lines. Where each piece was welded back together, there was evidence of its break. It was still shiny, but looked different somehow. "Go ahead, Aragorn. Pick up Narsil." Aragorn still hesitated. "You are the only one who can hold it now."

"What?"

"If anyone else were to pick up the sword, it would shatter into pieces once again. It will only answer to you."

"What if someone does pick it up and it shatters, will my picking it up restore it again?" Aragorn asked.

"No, the spell will be broken and would have to be recast."

Finally, Aragorn reached to pick up the blade. Once in his grasp, he tested its feel. As expected, it felt much different than when he held the eight inch tip of Narsil. It was long and more majestic that he'd envisioned. Far more impressive, however, was the surge of the strength he felt when he grasped the sword. It reminded him at the euphoric feeling he'd felt while semi-conscious just a few days ago.

"How does it feel?" the master asked.

"Wonderful." Aragorn smiled, gazing at the sword. "What extra powers does it have?"

"We'll find out later." The master returned the smile. "Right now let's see to answering some questions. I am most curious about the dream you had while you were ill. Let's begin with that. What was the dream about?"

"The last battle my father fought, but it was nothing like what I'd been told happened."

"What is the story you've been told?"

"He was killed by orcs while fighting them with the sons of Lord Elrond. During the battle an arrow pierced his eyes, striking him dead."

"And your dream?"

"He was in the midst of fighting; the sons of Elrond fighting beside him. In the briefest of seconds, he fell but it was not until the field cleared that I glimpsed the clean wound over his heart. It was clearly not an orc's blade that had done the damage, for their blades are hardly smooth enough to create such a wound. As I glanced at the elves, I could hear them conversing about having completed their task and one wiped his blade of distinctly red human blood. A lady standing near me said I knew the truth. But I am confused. I cannot help but believe there is some truth to the dream, but I simply cannot accept that they would lie to me. It wouldn't even make sense."

"Interesting," the master said when Aragorn was at last finished with his narration.

"How do I discover the truth?"

"Grasp Narsil and place it against the marble figure in the center of the table." Wordlessly, Aragorn did as he was instructed. He could feel the sword surge with energy. It took him off guard, but he held his grasp. "Now think about your dream and what you've been told. Concentrate on discovering the truth. Think about your father and Elrond's sons. Take yourself back to that time." Aragorn forced himself to think about his past. He closed his eyes as he did so.

Seconds after Aragorn closed his eyes, the darkness was replaced by a brightness. A room appeared. To his left was a large, brown desk. It was covered with books, some opened and others with numerous bookmarks peeking out. In front of him were several rows of bookcases. The walls were filled with familiar murals of historical events he'd grown up hearing and studying. He remembered this room. It was Elrond's study. He wondered if he'd opened his eyes, but he realized he must be drifting into the vision. It felt so real. He could feel the cool air blowing through the balcony, the heavy blue curtains moving slightly in the breeze. The air had a welcoming fresh scent to it, one that always managed to calm him. It was an indescribable scent that was unique to Rivendell. No other elven realm held it. Along with the air scent, was the smell of Elrond's dusty old books. It too was a familiar scent that calmed him, but not nearly as much as the former scent did.

From the hallway, he heard some familiar voices. They were Elrond's and his sons'. They were moving quickly. In no time, they were within feet of Aragorn's room and from what he could tell they were slowing down now. Panic filling him, he looked about for a hiding place, but couldn't find once before the door opened and the three entered. Aragorn froze, but they, to his surprise, took no notice of him. Rather they continued their conversation.

"Now, that we are alone," Elrond began, shutting the door behind his boys, "tell me of your mission."

"It was a perfect success," Elladan answered, delighted. His brother nodded in agreement.

"I suppose that because you brought them back here there were no suspicions?"

"None," Elrohir confirmed. "None of them even asked a question; they just assumed it was an orc that killed him."

"Where was the family during the attack?"

"Out of harm's way," Elladan answered slyly. "They are unaware of what has happened."

"And the survivors of the battle?"

"Taken care of. It will look as if the orcs has massacred them." Aragorn gasped when he heard this. In his dream, at least twenty men had survived, but the sons of Elrond had apparently slaughtered them. His dream appeared to be true. His father had not been killed by orcs as he had been told, but had been murdered by elves. But why? That was the one question that remained. What would the elves gain by killing the Heir to Numenor?

"All has gone wonderfully according to plan. Arathorn was the only one to discover our intents and with him out of the way, we can insure that the race of man will never rise to power again." Elrond told his boys.

Even more than last time, Aragorn was shocked. He couldn't believe the conversation he was witnessing. Elrond had spent so much time during his recovery encouraging him to embrace his destiny, but why if he'd wanted man to fail? As he pondered this, the scene before him faded to blackness and he came to realize that he was back in the master's study. As he opened his eyes, he found the master and Glynn standing in their same spots, but now holding an expectant look.

"It is true," he answered them, laying the sword gently on the table.

"I'm sorry," the master replied.

"But there is something else I don't understand. They did it because they wanted man to fail, yet they pushed me during my recovery to become the man I was born to be. Why would they do that if they didn't want me to succeed?" The master thought a moment before responding.

"They raised you Aragorn; they knew how you'd be as a man. Perhaps, they'd sabotaged you as a child so that you'd be an ineffective ruler."

"Perhaps," Aragorn conceded. "It does make sense." He paused a second before continuing, "How do we find out about your family?"

"That will be a little more difficult," the master replied. "Much like when you sought to discover your own truth, you will grasp the sword and touch it to the statue, but you will have to concentrate much harder. Focus on finding my family, the sword will direct you to them." As he had before, Aragorn picked up Narsil, following the now familiar steps. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the master. Although he had been warned, he was surprised when he didn't enter into a vision as quickly. He heard the master telling him to focus more. He tried, but it didn't work.

"Tell me about your family," Aragorn said. "Where did you live? Did you have any children?"

"We lived in a small village. My wife and I had three children before I lost them. I was the town healer." The master's voice faded as Aragorn found himself pulled into the dream. Unlike last time, there as a dim light and the air was dry, but pleasantly warm. Before him stood two groups of people. One was composed of adult men and the other appeared to be a family consisting of a mother and three children. This must be the master's family, but he couldn't recognize the place they were in.

"Where is my husband?" the mother asked.

"He is yet living," one of the men in the other group asked.

"Living?"

"Yes."

"And we are?"

"Dead." Aragorn reeled in shock. The master's family was more than lost; they were dead. He must not know or he wouldn't be searching.

"Where are we?"

"Just past the fourth gate." The man continued talking, but Aragorn couldn't hear him anymore as the vision began to fade. In no time, he found himself back in the master's study again.

"What did you see?" the master asked before Aragorn had a chance to open his eyes.

"They're…," Aragorn trailed off as he opened his eyes. "They're dead."

"Yes, I know that," the master responded. "But where are they?"

"You knew they were dead?"

"Yes, they were killed in an attack on our village. Where are they?" he asked, anger seeping into his voice.

"The man said they were just past the fourth gate."

"That's good. They'll be there for quite some time. I still have a chance to get them back safely."

"Back?" Aragorn asked incredulously. "How? They're dead."

"But they haven't reached the final gate yet. There's still a chance. I must reach them before they get to the twelfth gate. And you must help me."

"Me? How?"

"Come," the master said, walking swiftly out of the room through the door Aragorn and Glynn had entered through. The two followed him. They walked down the familiar weapon adorned hallway, but turned left instead of right, down a different hallway. This one was darkening with each step. The way was lit by a series of torches.

"Tell me," Aragorn said firmly once he caught up with the master, "what happened to your family."

"I was out defending my village against an orc attack. Elves were helping us. Several of them remained behind, forming a perimeter around the village, but some of the orcs got through. They set fire to the village. It moved swiftly from home to home. No one escaped the fire. At first I didn't think I could save them, but then I discovered the old scrolls and discovered the old magic." They stopped in front of a large wooden door. The master pulled a key from his waist band, unlocking the door. "Down these steps," he said, leading them through the door, "is the key to bringing them back." Aragorn followed him down the spiraling wooden steps. At the bottom in a dim light was a creature. It was dirty and chained. Aragorn took a step further. Only then did he see it was an elf. With yet another step, he discovered the identity: Legolas, the elven prince.


	12. Vampiric Incantations

Yes, I'm actually updating. I know, shock of all shocks. Truthfully, there are no excuses. I allowed a lack of response to keep me from writing and I shouldn't have. As I was planning this chapter, however, I came to the decision that for the time being I'm putting the story on hiatus. I will still be working on it, but I will not be posting another chapter until I have completed the story. My writing habits are unfair to anyone who should choose to read my stories. There are about eight more chapters to this story to go and I hope to have them written by the end of the summer. Any stories written by me will, from now on, be completed before posting.

Anyway, I hope anyone who's still reading enjoys this chapter. I'm sure there are mistakes in it, but I could stand to edit it anymore. So please read, relax, enjoy, and review. Oh and I apologize if I've butchered the German, I'm still learning the language. Translation is at the bottom.

Par usual, I don't own LOTR, but that's ok 'cause I'd kinda like to own Star Trek right now.

* * *

Vampiric Incantations

Aragorn stood shocked by what he saw. How they had managed to capture the elven prince was beyond him. When he'd encountered him several weeks ago, the elf had been heavily guarded. It didn't bother him much that the elf was held captive here, but what he did wonder was why. For what reason would they have to capture him. Aragorn turned to ask the master, but he beat him to it.

"We've had him here about a week," he said. "Glynn's men are very talented."

"Why? What do you plan to do with him?" Aragorn asked.

"He's an integral part of our plan. Actually you might say, he is the life of it," the master said, smiling a little.

"How so?" Aragorn still didn't understand.

"Elves, by their nature, are among the purest beings on this earth. Babies are too, but only for a short while. Very quickly, they are filled with impurities, not to mention they're so small there's very little Life in them. But elves, they're different. They retain this purity throughout their life. And as they grow their Life grows too. It is that purity, that Life that I need to bring my family back."

"What kind of sorcery is this? I've never heard of such a skill. How do you plan to take his Life from him?"

"It's an old art and I won't be the one doing it Aragorn," the master said, looking directly at him with his entrancing eyes. "I do not possess the ability to do so, but you do."

"You want me to kill an elven prince?"

"You hate them as much as I. Surely you can find no wrong in such an act?"

"Aye, I do hate them, but murder?" Aragorn looked at the master with doubting eyes.

"Remember your vision, Aragorn," the master ignored the look of Aragorn's eyes, instead gazing with even more intensity at the younger man. He took a step towards him to emphasize his point. "Remember what they did to your family. They killed your father and hid the truth. They widowed your mother. Think of her grief; did they even care? No, it was all part of a great plan. They destroyed your family. Now you have a chance to take revenge."

The anger Aragorn had felt during the vision resurfaced and surge through him. They had taken his family from him and shown no remorse for it. They angered Aragorn even more. To take a life and not feel guilt was deserving of revenge.

"What is it that I need to do?" he finally asked resolutely. For a brief second he thought he saw the hint of a smile flicker across the mouths of the master and Glynn, but they disappeared before he had time to register them fully.

"Today is simply a test. We need to see how it works and you need practice," the master explained.

"What must I do?"

"Grasping Narsil, you will need to recite the incantation that I say," the master explained. "It will need to be repeated several times as the power grows. Once you feel the power peaking, touch the tip of Narsil to the elf's heart and imagine yourself pulling and draining his Life. During this time, you need absolute concentration, do not allow yourself to become distracted. I imagine the first time you will have difficulty, but the more it is done, the easier it shall become."

"Understood. Shall we begin now?" Aragorn asked.

"Certainly," the master replied. "I will recite the incantation with you the first couple of times, but it is only you that can use it to build power."

"Aye," Aragorn said, removing Narsil from her sheath and aiming it towards the elf. The elf tried to look brave, but his eyes betrayed him showing the intense fear that was welling up inside of him. The master then began to speak, reciting the incantation. After a couple of times, Aragorn joined in, closing his eyes in concentration.

"Felsen, Bäume, und Wasser

Kräfte des Altes

Ehrwürdige Götter der alten Tage

Sehen Sie die Ehre innen

Und geben Sie mir die alten Kräfte.

Füllen Sie mich mit dem Mystiker."

As Aragorn repeated the incantation for a fourth time, the master fell silent, but Aragorn took no notice. He was far too busy concentrating on the lines to take notice. The words were strange and he had no idea what it meant. Briefly, though, the phonemes registered as something vaguely familiar. He'd heard those sounds before and not long ago. Before he could figure out where, he was reminded of the situation before him by a deep intake of breath. The breather was before him, the elf he concluded. Curiosity and instinct forced him to open his eyes. He caught a brief glimpse of a bright green light from in front of him. Though it had been short-lived, he had managed to use the incantation to gather power in Narsil. He looked towards the master and Glynn. They were both watching anxiously.

"You were on the right path, Aragorn," the master said. "Try it again and this time try to get enough power to take some of his Life."

"Aye, master," Aragorn nodded, the name rolling off his tongue with pleasant ease. Like last time, he held the sword out towards the elf's heart, closed his eyes, and began to repeat the incantation. This time, however, he conjured up images of his childhood, juxtaposing them against his newfound knowledge. The concoction of memories and feelings, spurned on the hatred within him and as the anger welled up, he found himself feeling a familiar power building up. He welcomed the feeling, embracing the strength it gave him. Amidst this, he remembered the elf before him. The vile being, whose race had ruined his life, was there for his taking. He gripped Narsil tighter with his hands, feeling the warm hilt. It was warmer than usual. It must have worked, Aragorn thought to himself.

Replacing the memories of his life, with the image of Legolas sitting on the dirty floor and chained to the stone wall, he reached out with his mind to feel the elf's Life. It took mere seconds to find it, shining a bright cool blue. Aragorn found himself jealous of its vibrancy. He wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted. He moved the sword forward until it hit flesh. He barely took notice as the elf cried out in shock. Through the sword, he reached out with his mind until he could feel the elf's Life at the tip of Narsil and beckoned for it to come to him. When it struggled, not wanting to come, he refocused himself. He repeated the incantation louder now and in his mind, working to feel and absorb every word. The power once again built up within him, reaching a level he had never before felt. When it peaked, he called for the Life again, this time ordering it to come. Once again, it struggled, but this time it was in vain. The Life came slowly at first. Inpatient with the current speed, the increased his efforts and it began to move faster.

The Life added to the power he already felt, making him feel unnaturally strong and powerful. Still, it did not make him hesitate. He reveled in the power he was gaining. He continued draining Legolas, unaware of his surroundings and the passage of time until a familiar voice called to him. It was the master. Startled, Aragorn stopped draining.

"That is enough, Aragorn," the master said. "Return his Life."

Aragorn would have liked to keep the power. The elf would not need it, for he was just sitting here. Nevertheless, he began to return the power. It was far easier to send it back, almost as if it wanted to get away from him. In mere seconds, nearly all of the elf's Life had gushed back to the pointy-eared being. Just before all of the power was returned, he removed the sword from the elf's heart and opened his eyes. The master would never know that he had kept some of the elf's Life. He liked the feel of it in his body. It stood out from the rest of him, yet it melded to him as though it was part of him. It coursed through his veins like blood, but he could tell that it was much different from blood. Blood didn't feel so invigorating.

"Excellent," the master said. Aragorn's peripheral vision caught the man walking swiftly towards him. "That worked wonderfully."

"But master," Aragorn began, turning to the man, who now stood just a couple feet in front of him, "did you not need the Life I drained from him?"

"Yes, of course. But not now. This one elf is not nearly enough. We need more elves."

"How many?"

"Quite a few more and that is your next task," the master responded before turning quickly on his heels and walking towards the door. Glynn followed him. Aragorn paused for a second, thinking about the master's words. How many was "quite a few more," he wondered. Beside him, the elf moaned, but he ignored it.

"You do not have to do this," Legolas said, his voice pained and weak.

"Shut up, elf," Aragorn spat at him.

"Do you even know what you have gotten yourself into? He's not who you think."

"I told you," Aragorn began, moving towards the elf, "to shut up." He slapped the elf's cheek harshly to emphasize his words. Without another word or doubt, he walked briskly, but confidently out of the room. Even on the stairs, it seemed brighter. Glynn and the master were waiting at the top of steps for him. As he joined them, they said nothing. Aragorn followed them through familiar hallways. Rather than turning to return to the master's room, they continued walking. This hallway was not different from the others Aragorn saw. Weapons and banners decorated the gray stone walls. In a couple of minutes, they were at the end of the hallway and Glynn was pushing open a tall wooden door. Beyond the door was grass. As the three stepped out, Aragorn saw that it was not just a grassy meadow, but also a training ground.

Out on the field, he saw six men sparring with swords. Each was dressed differently, but not distinctly. They wore an assortment of armor, some of it metal, some leather. A couple of the men were missing a few pieces of armor, but not of them entirely critical. Underneath their armor, Aragorn could see clothing in varying shades of brown and white. Though the men looked far from professional, their sword skills were hardly amateurish. While Aragorn had seen better sword handling, he had also see far worse than theirs.

"Who are these men?" he finally asked.

"Your team," the master said from beside him.

"Team?" Aragorn questioned his voice slightly incredulous.

"Admittedly it's not a large team. Not nearly the manpower you'll need," the master conceded to Aragorn's doubt. "You'll have to recruit more, but these men are quite skilled. They brought in that elf."

"I can't lead a group of men," Aragorn said. "I'm not the man you're looking for."

"On the contrary, you are exactly the man who can lead these men. In fact, you are the only one that can."

"I don't understand," Aragorn said, looking at the master.

"Just as no one else can wield Narsil, so can no one else lead these men. You hold a certain power within you that will give you the ability to lead these men. Already it has been ignited. It will guide you," the master explained. "The men know of a couple of villages where you can recruit men," he continued, not allowing Aragorn a break to ask questions. "They too are elf-haters."

"Train them and capture elves," Aragorn finished hastily. "I got that, but how many."

"There's no way to tell. Just capture elves and bring them back. I'll tell you when you've captured enough," the master explained, his voice short. "Bjorn," he called. One of the groups of men stopped sparring. One man sheathed his sword and jogged over to where the three stood. "Bjorn, this is Aragorn. He'll be taking over command. You're to do everything he says without hesitation," the master instructed. "Glynn," he called and turned to walk back towards the wooden door. Glynn followed wordlessly, leaving Aragorn and Bjorn. Aragorn hesitated for a moment, an awkward pause filling the silence.

"Well," Aragorn began, "Bjorn, show me what you've been working on."

"Aye, sir," Bjorn said after a slight pause. If he doubted the other man, he didn't show it. The two walked over to where the men had stopped sparring to watch the two men. "The master's brought us a new man. This is Aragorn. He'll be in charge." Bjorn's statement was answered by a chorus of aye, sir's.

"Since we'll be facing off against elves, we'll need to have the proper techniques. They are very skilled fighters, very agile and swift. Fortunately, I am very familiar with their styles," Aragorn explained. "I'd like to see each of you in action, so I can see where we need to improve. Each of you will be sparring against me. Bjorn, you're first."

Bjorn nodded and the two moved away from the others to gain enough room for the match. Both unsheathed their blades. Bjorn's blade was clearly an old blade, but well taken care of. Without hesitation, Aragorn launched himself at the other man, who raised his sword to block the oncoming attack. Their swords locked for the briefest of seconds before Bjorn forced Aragorn's sword away and making an attack of his own. He swung at the right side of Aragorn's abdomen. It was wide open and he thought it would bring a quick victory. Seconds before the blade struck, Aragorn moved his blade to block the incoming hit. Just as suddenly as the block came, did Aragorn shove Bjorn's sword away. Bending slightly, he also forced an elbow into the man's stomach, shoving him away fiercely. Bjorn staggered backwards, hunched over slightly to ease the pain in his stomach. Before Bjorn had much of a chance to recover, Aragorn went on the offensive, attacking the man so ferociously he could not find a chance to make even one attack.

The match ended as quickly as it began. Aragorn made the killing strike after forcing Bjorn to the ground. With Narsil pointing at the other man's throat, Bjorn had no option but to surrender. After a tense moment, Aragorn removed the sword and helped Bjorn to his feet.

"Well," the former ranger said, "I can see we'll need to do some training. Next." Bjorn sheathed his sword and returned to the men. Bjorn's sparring partner, Caleb, stepped up. As with Bjorn, Aragorn made the first attack. It seemed as though the match was over in just a minute, far quicker than Bjorn's match was, but it still ended with Aragorn making the killing strike and Caleb surrendering.

Aragorn went quickly through the other four men, defeating each of them as swiftly as the first two. They all showed promise, but would need work. Tristan was the weakest, but as he found out during their evening meal, he was the newest addition. Before being recruited, he'd worked as a stable hand with no fighting experience. Caspar and Bryce were at the same level. They were brothers and grew up sparring against once another. Gavin, though younger than the rest, was talented. He still lost quickly to Aragorn, but Aragorn could see the potential in him. Caleb too was at about the same level. Bjorn was by far the most talented of them, but his skills needed refining as did his fighting attitude. Although they'd taken down Legolas, they were all inept at defending against elven tactics and moving on to the offensive.

After the sparring, Aragorn pulled Bjorn off to the side to talk to him.

"Yes, sir?" the man asked.

"With the new men that we'll be getting, we're going to need more of a chain of command," Aragorn said. He paused as if expecting Bjorn to speak, but the man said nothing. "I'm going to need a second in command. I'd like you to fill that position."

"Aye, sir," Bjorn said.

"Tomorrow after the morning meal, we need to start laying out plans for recruiting and capturing the elves. In the afternoon, we'll start training. We have a lot of work to do to get these men in shape."

"Aye," Bjorn agreed.

"Good," Aragorn said. "Now, let's go join the rest in the evening meal."

***

After a hearty meal, the seven of them sat in the dining hall talking. Aragorn watched as the others took out a long pipe, filling it with an herb from a small pouch and lighting it.

"What is it that you smoke?" he asked curiously.

"A mixture of weeds we find in the forest," Caleb answered. "Would you care for some?" He held his pouch out to Aragorn.

"I don't have a pipe."

"Here you go," Caspar answered, breaking from his debate with his brother to toss Aragorn a pipe. "I always keep an extra 'cause Bryce is always losing his somewhere and he's a real grouch if he can't smoke."

"Thanks." Aragorn took the pipe, filling it with some of herb mixture, and lighting it. He handed Caleb the pouch back and settled into his chair to listen to the conversation. The mixture was quite pleasing. It was sweet with a little bit of a bite to it. It reminded him vaguely of cinnamon, but he couldn't place the herbs. Nevertheless, he enjoyed it as he listened and learned about his men. Tomorrow they would have to begin training in earnest and begin making plans to recruit men from the villages the master had mentioned.

* * *

**Translation of incantation:**

Rocks, trees, and water

Powers of old

Venerable gods of past days

See the honor within and

Grant me the ancient powers

Fill me with the mystic.


End file.
